I cry,

because I can’t meet your parents

or take a road trip with you.

 

I cry,

because I can’t have Thanksgiving with you,

or rent a movie with you.

 

I cry,

because I can’t watch you apply lipstick to your lips

or watch you wash your hair.

 

I cry,

because I can’t dance with you

or listen to you breathing in your sleep.

 

I cry,

because I can’t walk with you in the park

or go to an opening gala at a museum with you.

 

I cry,

because I can’t hold your hand

or expose our love to the world.

 

I cry,

because I can’t get lost in your eyes

or listen to the ocean with you.

 

I cry,

because I can’t view sunsets with you

or make love to you.

 

I cry,

because you can’t cuddle on my shoulder on an airplane ride

or let me embrace you during a cold winter night.

 

I cry,

because from sea to sea,

land to land,

I have not met you.

 

I cry,

because I want to be on an airplane with you,

kiss you and hold your hand

as we descend upon the NYC skyline.

 

I cry,

all the time I cry.

 

 

© 2003 David Greg Harth

03.10.27.14:29@296NYC