where to begin?
                                                     not this **** again
            the constant deliberation
                                                    ­                 your harsh beration

is that even a word?


I wouldn't know, you're not here to correct me


But I'll still prostrate myself before you
Never imply, never implore you
to swallow the pride I so eminently taste
on the tip on your tongue in the flames of your space

for I articulated immensely and pure,
I've no pride left -- I've already tried to say

                                   that I Miss You

In the olive branch of thought, or concern, or encouragement


The snicker on your lips at the edge of the cord
Has snapped in my face, in a favored exchange
You say I don't owe you
But maybe I do?
I couldn't tell you why

                                                       I'll still say I Miss You

Chuckle in my face
                                            say I'm looking too hard
when half passed a year, and I saw that you star-        -ted
to write in the place I hold dear to my heart
You played where you meant and you knew these parts

I would puzzle together would puzzle my head
to ensure that your seed had been planted and fed

And I hate the feeling you put in this trough
                             I'll lap at the puddle, still claim that is

All Love.

                        You forget that I know you
From that you can't hide
                         You forget that I know the shake in your voice
When you lie

                                                         Despite your uncanny ability still,
This hostility doesn't suit you
                                         Not that I think that I will
change that as of late.


I just wish you could swallow that burdened mind
The one with the Pride?
The one you never tried

                                                     to combat or control
because control is a need


I see that , I know that ,              so control what you please


But no more, not me
It's me.
It is me.

Can you not at all, remember it's me?

Not a burden
A binding
An obligation "back home"

No pressure
No lectures
Just a box of our notes.

The snipping aversion proceeding the kind
Doesn't look good on you,

I've reached and I've tried.

So I'll favor this favor, because my heart's cured --

Unbandaged,
         I'll tell you I Miss You
                                                          once more.





                                 this time try to
Be honest with me.