Men have moved to cities
where I’ve wanted to live –
cities I can’t afford,
cities I’m not good enough for –
only to complain that the
trains are late and that
somehow they’re bored.
The life I want is in their hands,
and yet their gratitude is
low in demand.
I can’t presume that the man
in your life is full of such ingratitude,
but I hope he cherishes the day he fell.
I hope he treats you well.
I hope he holds you like you’re
I hope his lips go numb when he
I hope he shakes when he tells you
he loves you,
and I hope that he’s my conduit.
If I can never show you
just how much I love you
then I hope someone else
can grant you that fortune.
© Sam Hunt, 2017