Hypothetical Love Poem
How many chances have I wasted
at a normal life? And what
would we be then, my love?
I do not weep for the details, my dear,
of you, your coffee, two cream, how
you fold your legs into your arms
and why, I do not know; and how many
mysteries of you I do not know
I do not miss. These constellations
lead me up and down your spine, I might trail
my fingers across, finding a way.
But I do not--And in this other world,
could you find me by another name, by other,
brighter stars, your way lit too well to see.
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