What If

by Faith Diaz

every flower
you ever pick,
wilts at your touch,

every kiss
you ever plant
seeps venom instead of passion,

and

every time
you slowly outline my fingers,
they melt away into someone else’s;

Or possibly,

what if
we inhale 
water and
swim in air

and

we lay
in a bed of sky 
and stare
into an expansion of grass;

What if
the clouds
soak up wishes
and rain
small pieces of you,

and
every piece
is like an image – 
our legs entwined,
under fireworks,
the smell of campfire in our hair that
we will later help each other rinse it out;

What if
lollipops ask you
how many licks it takes
to get to your center;

But instead –  

I let you finally hold me,
grip my sides and slide your hands down,
wrapping around my lower back,

What if

we fall
into bedsheets and
out of coffee at five in the morning,

and

you
shower while I brush my teeth
and as
you come out,

Dripping,

I throw all of the towels into the hallway;

What if
I damn you to hell
before I kiss you
attempting to taste heaven

And

we stumble
into the sides of skyscrapers
as we share the taste of mimosa
between our
tongues;

What if
I did not fall 
in love
but walk into it
with
you?