I miss our sad love,
born from a spark that ignited
the first time you wrapped me in your warm embrace:
when I tripped and your strong,
stubborn arms caught me
and refused to let go.
The same stubbornness that destroyed
our pitiful love;
now that love is burned, damaged
and badly bent out of shape.
What did you do?
"What did you say?"
I giggled as the warm tenor of your voice
surrounded me,
as you wrapped your arms around me.
"I said, du bist suß"
You really were so cute back then.
"But what does that mean?"
What does sorry really mean?
It's just one word amongst thousands
in the pile of lies, apologies, excuses and denial
that you stacked on top of our love,
before setting it ablaze,
as if you could hide what you've done.
"I can't hang out today,
my car won't make it to Merced
and I'm at work in Oakdale,"
you said as I watched you
park your red truck,
the one we leaned against
as we had our first kiss
outside of a pizzeria,
50 miles away from where you claimed to be.
"I'm truly sorry
to have treated you this way.
You don't deserve that."
No, I didn't.
YOU ARE READING
Songs of My Talkative Heart
Poesia“Hearken! and observe how healthily – how calmly I can tell you the whole story.” --Edgar Allen Poe The Tell-Tale Heart A collection of poetry, straight from my heart, my life, my experience...my stories.
