And did you?

And did you ever love me?
That halfmoon kind of love?
Lazy in a longing that curls around your fingers like my hair that you never could touch?
A fragment of grey like a lip stain on your palm.
A shivering act of anger and resentment and I begged you to stop him.
And did you ever love me?
Call me after days to tell me that you can and cannot do without those few lines of poetry.
And deliberate miles that seperate.
And did you ever love me?
Even in half serrated words of a thesaurus full of passion and longing for a girl you never fully knew?
In measured steps of un-hurry, dry summer nights and the branches of yellow. Of accusations and lies of a million years.
I never stood there calling out to you for a chance or hope.
I never stood there, waiting. Wishing, longing that halfmoon of an existance in your eyes.
And did you ever love me?
This kind of love is ever easy. Ever so easily melted over pen drawn lines on pressed dry memory leaves.
The one desire to wipe the moisture off my lips.
A single, orphan desire of some resurrection of a text book perfect love.
In making peace with the chaos that I am, the darkest of clouds obscured a vision.
The rains unclogged some more love that I rushed towards the snow instead.

And did you?