What then?

If the warmth of the early summer
comes along,
Whipping at the hairs around
my throat and neck,
& your own mouth does not
vie for the attention of
the flesh surrounding there,

What does that mean?

If the stars in the sky
react like popping candy
in the mouth of God,
but your laughter does not
intermingle with my own,
somewhere,
anywhere,
beneath that dome
together,

What does that mean?

If, when I drive,
going sixty down Kentucky Road,
sun hung low in the sky,
the warm summer air whips at the hair
at my neck and atop my head,
& I cackle gleefully at some funny thought
in my mildly macabre mind,
and you are not there to kiss my
fleshy throat,
and you are not there to laugh along with
me in the cacophonous noise of music on the
wind,

…then…?

If I'm to meet you on a balcony in a posh
California home,
Will you meet me at the end of that walk to the rim,
or will I walk on until I lunge forward into street below?
& if I am to see you on the beach, will you actually be
there - hands touching my forearm slightly,
eyes glittering, smiling, overjoyed that I made it with you,
Or - when I arrive to the Sea that day, drenched in driving rain,
will I just let go and
will I just keep walking on until salt water fills my soul?