I’ll always miss the nights not spent
sitting out on your cold front porch
not smoking a cigarette with you
and not looking up at those stars
like frozen diamonds under an Iowan sky
the way that sky would not scream dark blue
and you would not rest your head against my shoulder
carefully carrying a carriage of cold tears, not shed.
the way my boots would not gently
brush against your sneakers
I would not run my fingers through your hair
and tell you it’ll be okay
I would not look into your hazel eyes
and know there’s some hope left
I would not feel sad when you would not make me cry
and I will not miss you, when I say goodbye