I could write a poem that no-one could tell was for you,
or anyone.
It would be about wooden benches painted red,two,sitting across
from each other like old lovers on a porch.
It would be about walking,sweaty hands,and angry women
talking about government property.
Plastic soda bottles and kids knocking on an old man's door.
the smell of grass so close to your face
and the talk of life as our worries ran,chasing the wind
stirring up Golden Glitter in their wake.
One purple hoodie and hair bands I'm sure you've thrown away
I could write a poem
that no-one could tell was for you,or for anyone.
and it would be about an owed hug
and a silent promise