Disfunction? He’s harder than he shows.
He gave everything… she thought enough.
Talking to himself – can’t get a word in else.
This love thing, so many words – ‘I love you’ never heard.
She did things with so many – he did the same with few.
Her want, sophistication – her need, the rough of him.
We’ll meet maybe
have a good weekend
we just can’t agree
it’s not about you
your life your fears
it’s mine too you see
A second cup of coffee, manuscript unread
pages turned over, ink and pencil damn his
printed lies, not fiction, no editing can hide.
Landline within a hand’s reach, adjacent to
a still full cup, arms tight beside his frame
too weak to lift, conscience has its weight.
A ring, expected, yet he jolts as if in shock
he says ‘yes’ to silence, her breathing takes
the place of words, still living, how absurd.
He didn’t ask
he didn’t know
she’d say yes
he thought no
He made her smile
maybe… next week
His recall, a Saturday he let go… a Sunday he found himself, alone.
He thought, ‘I’ll trust you till I don’t’
She thought, ‘I don’t trust you already’
Sentenced by line. No remission, unkind.
I swear, I don’t, do you?