As If

He was always never there, always off
Somewhere else with some unknowns,
As if his pulse quickened with them.
She awaited his return, she waited for
His time and what he gave was like a light
Rainshower, too brief to absorb.
He could slip behind her eyes' corners,
Turn through her catching fingers,
Caper-off like a young breeze as if he had
No reason to stay.  He would
Rustle her limbs, playful as an imp, steal
Her berries and toss her a kiss before
Leaving her life light and dry as if he had
Water to conserve.  She waited there, maturing
Slowly in the sun as if her roots were 
Long enough to nurture growth on their own.
It was as if he left her stultified, aching
For a movement not her own.
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