Locked you within my reach. For years of cold war,
I bit the bullet without a doubt, every time.
I know you are a refuge I could settle.
Tossed and turned on wrinkled bed sheet and
almost naked pillows. Even if I stay awake all night,
I know if I ask, you would sing me lullabies to sleep.
Even so, soon, inevitably I know you shouldn’t.
How do I begin to carve signage between crossroads
if I refuse to lay these hands on? For all I know,
you would if I ask you to.
But under my breath, over a cup of latte in late afternoon
rays as you walk forth the shade, how could I convince
myself that maybe somehow comfort bare the sheath.
And, soon, inevitably I know I should.
What truly terrifies me is realizing that even just a tip
of a hint I may be meant to never come back if I ever
move away. What if I will love it?
