I call him Mr. X
Not that he was my ex
but a could-have-been
that never was.
A long, hard cold wish upon an unrealistic star
a door barred (not left ajar)
a card not in my deck to hold
a unique love story that didn’t unfold.
A dream that I could not create
a fantasy I could not manipulate
a white slate from which I never ate
a choice never offered me to make
a possible blessing clothed as a probable mistake
a painstaking ache
the butter-white icing on my brown-sugared cake
a lifelong playmate
A prayer unanswered or unheard
a thrill in my voice never unfurled
a loving sigh never exhaled
a desire unexpressed and a giddiness suppressed
a gleam in my eye that never sparkled
a pair of arms that never cuddled
a skip of my heart that never played
endless smiles that were never staged
kisses unchoreographed and dances unsung
a love letter never begun
and on my back there remains
a slight sadness stain--
‘My Mr. X’
