I love you so much
I can say more in the touch
of a single finger
than in a whole poem
about you.

You make me want to sing
You make me want to laugh
You make me want to fly
You make me want to live

(you make me want to run away and hide and cry and scream and punch
and hurt you now and hurt you bad so it will all be over and you will go
and I will be alone and will never be able to hurt you again and again
and again)

You know what I mean?

Through the gaps in the airline-style seating
I catch glimpses
snapshots
of her face
(or at least,
Its constituent parts)

An almond eye, subtly lined
a rise of cheekbone, flushed but unblushed,
and half of her smile
directed at me?

And I feel like Picasso
piecing together
the jigsaw piece sections
from an altered perspective
and seeing her whole
as beautiful.

She dances
with a freedom
with abandon
with a style all her own

to recall faded memories
of past, and lost, loves

and of the night
she left me, and with her

took my hopes
took my dreams
took what little left life had
and danced away.

I’m sorry I’m just not myself
(i’m sorry that’s all i ever am)
I’m sorry I didn’t mean it
(i’m sorry that i meant every word)
I’m sorry for taking so much of your time
(i’m sorry i can’t ask for it all)
I’m sorry that I feel this way
(i’m sorry i can’t feel anything else)
I’m sorry for being so down
(i’m sorry that it looks like up to me)
I’m sorry for everything
(i’m sorry for far more than that)

He picked up the phone
pressed the small green button
scrolled through the list of recently dialled numbers
stopped at her name
and called her.

“I just spoke to her.”
“And?...”
“And… And I told her –
about you and me
about where and when and how we met.
I couldn’t not tell her
any more.”

There was a pause.
And in the pause he said (in his mind)
And I told her so much more
I told her more than I can tell you
I told her
I love you
with every bone, sinew and muscle every cell I have.
I told her there were no words anymore
to describe what I feel
to describe how I feel
about you
I told her
all the good words were gone
taken and used
by better poets than me.
I told her
who, and what, and why
you are to me.
I told her.
Everything.

The pause was reaching its end.
“Well...” he said,
“what do you think?”
“I think
you should have talked
to me first…”

Now
which conversation do you think
was most important?