What could I do
to shield myself
from the words
you choose to strike me with.
I am at loss for words;
you have no dearth of it
razor-sharp as the edge of night.
Yet what I recall
of conversations
is abrupt laughter
intense wants
and love,
newly sprung
after anger subsides
I’ve been waiting,
I’ve been waiting
thus, handcuffed
by your disdain
for affection
What words do I choose
to speak to you about my loss?
About your loss,
you choose not
words in times of calm,
but unleash them,
as if untamed monsters
in moments of your choosing,
while I yearn the soothing balm
of a lover or a friend.
You fear imprisonment
by rituals of love,
perhaps
you fear
remnant souvenirs of love
as lovers disappear
I could promise you
I put my heart
in the things I do
and when I say
I love you deeply,
I do.
When I say so,
through the distance,
it is not a chain
to tug you
as you strain against it.
When I say
I love you deeply,
I do.
When you strain against it
or I do,
there will be nothing
to break
or shred.
Our lives
separate again.
We would shed
each other,
a pool of clothes at our feet
and wear another attire,
another self.
It will be
just a separation
a just separation.
