i wonder if i will

look back upon

all the ones who

gave me my firsts.

if i will glance over

my shoulder at

the hands still reaching

for me,

the lips still parted

in the shape of my name.

him, with the tongue

scraping at the ground

where i stepped.

him, with the fists

of daffodils and

violet smile.

him, with too much.

him, still standing there.

him, waiting.

and me,

just going.