Would he remember the important dates and the things you love?

Or the right words to say to make you look to the floor and blush crimson?

Would he take you to every bookstore possible?

Would he take you to the movies and watch you instead?

Would he love you at your ugliest? At your worst?

Would he spend every waking moment with you, however brief?

Would he know when something is wrong?

Would he conquer your fears and dry your tears?

Would he believe in your dreams, in you – when you yourself do not?

Would he show you off to his friends?

Would he shout your name from the mountaintops to prove just how proud he is of you?


Would he love you the way I did?

Breathe in your scent, kiss both sets of lips;

Bless you with his mouth, his hands?

Trace  your rise and falls, memorize your imperfections, your pride?

Would he find your secret place?

Would he know the way, the motion, the right amount of pressure, strokes?

Would he hold you when you unravel, release, fall?

Would he make your screams his own, time his with yours?

Would he whisper your name at the summit?

Would he force you to swallow?

And after,

Would he put your head on his chest and stroke your hair?

Would he mould his body against yours – two broken halves to make a perfect whole?

Would he be there in the morning?


Would he be me?


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