A Life of 'What Ifs'

Your very existence will be imperiled, 
if I fail to tenderly nurture 
those thousand-fold moments.

If I could not even 
touch your soul— 
what manner of love would that be?

In your mind's affliction, 
if I could not make 
my memory more enduring— 
what manner of drawing near would that be?

Across your breathing, 
if I could not arrange my vast sepulcher— 
what manner of solace would that be?

In your eyes' gaze, 
if I could not see 
tenderness there for me— 
what manner of return would that be?