If

If
If our paths cross again,
I’ll have the stars align above us—
a constellation spoken in the language of Cancer,
a grand gesture with intent that conveys
the abundance of a heart deeply missed
by the pride of Leo.

If our paths cross again,
I’ll have lilies bathe in the beauty of your presence
and roses linger on your skin,
while the sun caresses you one last time
before you leave in the bliss of my tenderness
for a place once kept, yet never again reached.

If our paths cross again,
I’ll sing to you in a language spoken without words—
only the hum of a beating heart,
only the thumps of a haggard breath,
only the glimmer of crying eyes.

If our paths cross again,
Aphrodite would weep at the sight of us,
a spectacle even the gods would find pitiful.
She would gleam only in the form of your whispers to my ears,
to bend time in our favor—
where hours beg to give us a second chance,
where minutes protest the fading of a thing so cherished.

If our paths cross again,
the old and frail would reminisce
on how equally foolish youth can be in love,
how life so often taunts the gentle
and seems to favor the vile…

Just if—if, if only.
If I knew what we could have done,
I’d say we never tried hard enough to fight for us.
Perhaps I’d see you more clearly
when I am reunited with you
in a place where no one draws breath.

Until then, my heart will live on,
caged in your name
and the ruined figure of a man
whose world has fallen to pieces.