Embrace

His arms.

I noticed them especially

last time I saw him

stopping by for gugs

(big hugs)

–those same gugs I threw away

but could not live without–

he waved those arms expressively overhead

(sweeping air aside)

emphasizing points

that flew from his fingertips

like birds

(freeing him from his fears for me)

and they weren’t especially muscly

or tan

those arms

and certainly not tattooed,

but they were such

fine arms

arms that held me for ever

(and not long enough)

tipped with elegant hands–

–that clasped me to reassuring chest for years

(and let me go too easily)

truly elegant hands

(I shouldn’t have gone)

tipped with long fingers

that could solve any puzzle

(except the puzzle of heartbreak)

and

he told me

(he said)

“I will always love you”

and I told him I didn’t like

the way he put that

–it sounded in the past–

–I didn’t know it was–

I didn’t know I would

never

see him again,

never

be held in the haven of his gaze

never

feel those arms around me.

or admire those elegant hands

such true arms

ought continue

ought be preserved

He

ought be here still

to wave those fine arms

–hands soaring like birds

feathered fingers taking flight–

overhead.