The you who's maybe right now sitting in a coffee shop, maybe a smoking a cigarrette
In between your maybe calloused, maybe wrinkled, maybe blackened fingers,
Maybe leafing through the pages of a book I haven't heard of yet,
By an author I will soon discover and fall in love with.
The you for whom I may write poems and poems,
About the salty organic smell of your unconventionally delicious warm body odor,
About the lines in your palms that
That should one day sweat into mine, till the warmth and salt maybe
Melt into a glowing cauldron of what maybe all things good and wonderful
The you who maybe a poet, with a witty repetoire of limericks and poems and quotes,
Or maybe the you who makes a That's What She Said joke everytime
I talk about how hot it is, or how my assignment is hard,
Or maybe the you who maybe will one day run through an airport with me shrieking "Don't get on that flight" or maybe
The you with whom I shall play the right keys while you sing the right words that maybe I will one day write,
Which will maybe make my insides coagulate into a mass of giggles and hormones and unadulterated glee,
Or maybe the you who will come fully equipped with the key to unlock the hurl of love and hope,
That I can't seem to even find the door to.
Dear maybe, oh maybe, the maybe who I hope, maybe
Will soon, very soon, redeem my faith in a maybe:
Did you settle for less, take the easy way out,
Settle into comfort with someone less interesting,
Someone who maybe abhors your songs, doesn't get your jokes,
Or for someone who forgot to write a poem about your smell and your palms?
Did you compromise on the giggling, the feeling that there just isn't enough skin to touch,
Yet too much skin to feel,
And the feeling that a five foot something couldn't possibly contain that vast quantum of happiness that
We would one day maybe share?
Or maybe you, like me,
Are sitting by the door of the cafe, cigarrete in hand, leafing through the pages of a book I haven't heard of yet,
By an author I will one day love,
Waiting for your maybe
To walk in, hair scrunched in a bun, an unsolved sudoku in hand, and
Order your favorite dessert.