If I had to dream,
raging thunderstorms overhead,
his eyes blazing into mine.
If I had to live,
fingers enmeshed in his,
at his side I would stand.
If I had to see,
the planes of his face
would be first at dawn.
If I had to breathe,
his scent would invade my lungs,
a gasp caught in my throat.
If I had to sing,
my voice would softly harmonize
with the melody of his life.
If I had to taste,
the rough texture of his hand,
I would press lips to.
If I had to die,
the times his arms embraced me
would reign my memories in the afterlife.

© Johanna Fugitt 2017