What if you see me in ten years?

I might be older but

I could be changed.

My fingers may not be

the ones that touched your face.

My eyes may not reflect

a jubilance that had no base.

In my eyes, though,

memories will still shine

as clear

as the water that has melted

into the spring.

The ice that was thawed

before the season needed to change.

Early summer was predicated

but not

quite felt by all.

There are still times when I want you so badly

I ache.

I sleep steadily at night but it’s the sleep

of a woman who has what she wants

But is never sated.

Like a swimmer growing thirsty

I move

faster,

heart beats

louder.

I am a mess but I’m radiant,

just waiting for you to think.

Sheets tangled in

My sweaty hair,

Fists closed around

Nothing but grasping for eternity.

Solid matter is encased in

my lips, lightly touching

all

that is mine.

To think about me in your life,

this life. It is no longer yours.

It is owned by the bastard known as fate,

the smarmy wretch that owns your heart.

And for what?

For power?

For an experience?

No.

Because he has to.

For I am not drawn to you out of demand.

I want you because I need you.

I’m not sure what love is other

than a deep hunger that’s

never, ever satisfied.

Do you think I will still love you?

In ten years, that is—

Ten years is a lifetime

and people change faster

than the ice can melt

as the sun beats relentless;

fibers pulling apart,

tearing at existence and making

liquid of everything that was

important.

The sun beats on our heads like our hearts.

It moves me to wondering what if

my heart stops?

Ceases. Ends.

Will you remember me

when I’m dead but only inside?

You must because I’ve touched you,

touched you only as the cool air touches the night.

Unnoticeable, eloquent.

Completely memorable in a way

irrevocably

basic.