A Is For Anyway Poem by John W. McEwers

I stumble
I can't get the right words out
sometimes

I'll say I love you
but it won't make sense

You barely know me.

You've slept here once, in my arms
in my bed
four years ago.
it's a sleep I still remember

We curled, face to face,
arms holding one another
and sighed
at the sad state
of our lives

if we had been ready

if we had been right
at that moment,

The sun may have exploded,
but I wouldn't have cared

If we had been,
We would be...
but it's a nice thought, now,
anyway.