Perhaps if I had said hey instead of just hello,
with a half playful tone and smirk,
instead of a reserved flatness and the smile of a waiter;
perhaps if I had attempted more physical contact
(because they say finger tips on the shoulder
and demonstrative hand gestures transcend personal spaces;
they go a long, long way) and I had pointed out
on your body, through touch, where my soreness was:
"there, there... and there."
Perhaps if I had asked you about your childhood
and about your favorite food that afternoon in the theatre.
I stayed quiet during the performance
for fear of being too loud; though they also say
that whispers exist for intimacy's sake;
this is something I understood much too late.
Perhaps if I had spoken more,
thought less; gazed instead of stared; listened
closely; smiled more; told you how nice your shirt was
and that your face was the brightest thing I had seen
since I stared directly at the sun in 4th grade.
Perhaps if I had had a little courage;
if I had slouched less-- stood up straight;
if I had been a different person during those ten seconds
we sat in silence in my front lawn;
perhaps then you could have loved me.