I cannot know

if his love danced
in romantic tones
and heartfelt song

He has no language 
no words to describe
beyond survival
and necessity

the love he 
holds in his
worn and worried

I've had to sense it
uncover it
decipher and hold 
it had to be felt 

I was forced outside
of literal interpretations
there were no
words meant or 
used wastefully
in spurts of 
emotional wind 

he uses no breath

Perhaps romance
is for those
who have time

He speaks of his first 
and last 
as if she 
was born of his

one and the same

it is confluence 

I had to learn love
in actions
in crinkled smiles
in lasting impacts of 
fleeting, fragile emotion

love existed because
they made it so
in ways permanent 
and necessary
as the food and water
they offered freely 

in his chair
next to her bed
they sleep
and will sleep

because rest escapes him
when she is not there


I don’t know 
how to untangle
this web that is
more like metal bars
behind which I unravel
at the thought of you.

I want to reach out 
for answers
and decide against it.

What would you even say?

It’s the strangest feeling
cleaning a wound
by the weapon I handed you.

I wish I never
invited you in.


Our love was intense
selfish, at best.

I was the blank page you needed.
You were the clay I molded.

When we grew
into our own skin
my dear,
we woke
and couldn’t recognize the other.

You didn’t like
what I wrote.
I didn’t understand your form.