To me, you're a modal verb,
A metaphor,
A hinted wisp of memoried
Coy,
A suggestion of a time
And place,
That I locked the gate of
In my mind.
It's weird, the destruction,
The ticking bomb you wound
Accidentally of course,
A completely innocent criminal,
That's you,
You spend your life,
A part of it,
Saving mine, a bit of me,
But you're killing me,
Destroying me,
Hurting me beyond
The repair you seem to give.
