just not like this.

There is only the waxy image
that becomes the shell of you,

but there are no regrets for words left unsaid,
they were all there, flowing out, simple;

“I love you” spoken without tears, over and over,
a hand to stroke your head, close your eyes.

There are loose ends but this is not anger
only the childhood fear that comes

when you are lost in the department store.
I know I will talk to you,
but not with you.

I know I will share my written words aloud,
like the child who talked to angels in the dark,

but honey,

I’ll never know if you hear them,
Were they good, did you get it?

And in that deep place of mystery
despite my misgivings of all things hidden,

I still will choose to believe
that you would love me enough to lie.
I know I will share my written words aloud,
like the child who talked to angels in the dark,

but honey,

I’ll never know if you hear them,
Were they good, did you get it?

And in that deep place of mystery
despite my misgivings of all things hidden,

I still will choose to believe
that you would love me enough to lie.