maybe we’ll meet on the beach
sand in our shoes, waves in our guts
flowers blooming by some miracle
because you always had a talent to make those happen.
maybe we’ll meet, and you’ll be married, and I’ll have kids
and we’ll just sit there, hands barely touching,
catching up on what never was.
maybe we
won’t go anywhere at all
just that second, eternal, fleeting
dust flying into our eyes
to justify our reddening eyes.















