You will not read this.
If you did
By some calamity get to rest your eyes on these too true lines
You would not see yourself within them.
Amidst all the other kisses
You would not dream that I was right here and now
Reaching back into my not so distant past memory box
To contemplate yours.
What ifs and whys are the thin ice I dare not tread
(I'm rarely surefooted
Even on solid ground)
But I have not cried.
It would be a silly misery
A swift destruction of our small sanctuary.
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