You could be
the last man I’ll ever love
yours could be
the last poem I’ll ever read
with you could be
the last time I’ll ever try,
really try,
the kind of trying where
whether I win or lose matters.

It feels like that,
that I could outlive my heart
by decades
and I won’t always
love like this,
that poetry is a well
dug deep into the crust
and mantle of faith
that will ultimately
run out of water,
that thirst prevails
even as it stands by
watching waterfalls
with wary eyes.

You could be that seed
who’d give me a son
and a purpose,
the dream-incarnate
who’d build me a home
and a future,
or you could be
the castle in the air
barricaded by a moat
inhabited by alligators
feeding on oxygen and innocence
rationed by my past heartaches

you could be
life and death to me,
all the possibilities
that could be
just because
I (could) love you