M'aimer moins mais aimer un long temps

You've buried
me with a thought since,
with a thousand miles, with
every sunrise–
you chose not
to fight though your eyes
intended no truce;
your smile took forever
and I could only gaze as much,
affluent, unsaid–
like how the rain fell
without care
(like you would've been) while
I deferred to a callous hand;
you smelt of asphalt,
the sun
and stew and mangoes, and my
moon-kissed face
chafe against your lips

Until This

Always would I tell, wherever/whenever
though you'd always whisper; this is it, this is -
it dawns and sets and I'd wander some more,
then you, you would not dare forgo; this is it, this is -
my time and heart and soul, wondering,
wondering where and when (I try to reckon);
until this, until this.