i wonder if i will
look back upon
all the ones who
gave me my firsts.
if i will glance over
my shoulder at
the hands still reaching
for me,
the lips still parted
in the shape of my name.
him, with the tongue
scraping at the ground
where i stepped.
him, with the fists
of daffodils and
violet smile.
him, with too much.
him, still standing there.
him, waiting.
and me,
just going.