The greenness in your eyes that wasn’t mine;
Your honest laughter, that was not for me;
My never-uttered promise you’d decline;
Your sweet skin’s curves and marks I’ll never see;
These tokens were not tokens, they were gifts,
And though you found me wanting of their worth,
Yet something through the heaviness still lifts
My head, my heart, my chin. For after birth
There are no promises. No one can say
“Yes, this is my forever” and be sure.
For all that we are promised is today.
Your gaze, your sound, your touch is not so pure
As what may yet come to me, so I wait.
My jealousy's a mix of love and hate.
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