I said, “don’t you want to wait
for the taxi to arrive?”
but you took it in stride,
give up to the rain
and I went back inside

It was just the breathing,
crescendo of believing
but you sit on my chest
no rise-then-fall,
no, just gasp and crawl

The space in my lungs
I saved for you,
the whistle out-and-in,
ears full of your wind,
so ready to have you in,

I asked, “Why didn’t you?”
but these vocal cues
sink to my stomach and
I could never ask,
Why didn’t you?
why didn’t you?