Thinking back to nights of vodka, fairy lights and lighting your cigarette
And wondering if that last drag was the closest to your lips I’d ever get
You were gunpowder smoke, and yet you leapt away so lightly
To put out the flames of fellow men. Maybe I should have followed you
But I wait at home politely, as I always do, though your sweet fire excites me.
Deep in diatribe and wildflower wine your eyes met mine,
The first time that I loved the color green since seventeen.
We lay on our backs looking for the big dipper, you turned to me.
I stole a glance but couldn’t bear to share your smile.
I think of you each time my flannel hits the floor,
And as I stare into a warmer, kinder, deeper green than yours I wonder
Was it love I had for you, for who I could have been? Or something more?
I’ve proven to myself that I can live with such devotion,
And adore a wildflower across Ozarks and cross oceans.
Even after Amtraks carry beating hearts away
I cannot have a lover who I cannot ask to stay.
I think your cigarette lit one last fiery breath in me
To live my life in earnest, and to love deliberately.
Our souls are not the same, though yours is partial, so is mine.
I couldn’t give my garden for your wildfires and wine.
I couldn’t give my garden for your wildflower wine.
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