I’m
lost
in this thickening
fog
of expectations
fermenting
beyond their prime
on who said what to who again
and
why?
as though
if we can just unpick
the
blame thread
we can each hold up our own head
and
cry righteous tears
about
our un-dead love
still the only thing
we both know
is what we can’t let go
because
once it was the only show
we wanted to watch
but
now it is a stale rerun
of knots that have been undone
longer
than either of us wanted to believe
because all love of is opportunity
Even
when the sheets are clean
never
to get dirty again
and
all this linen we keep trying to wash is
stained indelibly with us
but
even so I fear
our
hearts will never be reopened
after
all this vinegar soaking
because
unless we stop provoking
all
that we ever had will be tossed
like
leaves plucked off in summer
never
to let the tree recover
so
if I don’t want to be lovers
that
I don’t still love us
