What Could Have Been

The slow, even stroke
Of your fingertips
Gliding along my body

Lulls me to sleep,
Even as it arouses.

I still miss you,
Miss what could have been.
But this knowing--this certainty--
That we wouldn't have made it far
Calls me home.

I can say, I love you,
And mean it in a friendly way.
Because you hold a piece of my heart--
I let you in.

And those fingertips
That glide across my skin
Tell me you miss me too
You miss what could have been.