Even If Poem by Oliver Roberts

Even if I told you today, you still wouldn’t really know.
If I said I wanted to take you away with me one last time,
press you to me and talk about it in the night and the rain,
or go to a place where we could just be two drops that fall,
even then, I am sure, you wouldn’t really know.

Even if I told you today, you still wouldn’t really know.
I might try to show you how you’re shaped in my thoughts,
how certain memories of you appear as folds of warm paper,
and others, the ones that changed us, try to fit into places too small.
Even if we look at those now, touch them, you wouldn’t really know.

Even if I told you today, you still wouldn’t really know.
I could climb into your smile to show you how big I made it,
create a record of your risen breast flesh and let you touch it,
or write a book full of clouds that you’d read to recall our perfect ache.
Even then, I wonder, would you ever really know?

Even if I told you today, you still wouldn’t really know.
I’d let you open colourful boxes of the thoughts I was afraid of,
release from them the limping birds that prevented you from believing me,
and finally you’d see how you mattered, how you swept through my soul.
But, still, you will never really know.