Although the world is glimmering
your eyes are dark.
I think.
They won't meet mine and
your hand curls tighter around her,
while I twist myself into knots.
She looks, though, can she feel it?
The tension?
No. Your stress and my eyes on
her lovely party dress are
subtle. No else can see this.
They see how your smile tilts,
how her eyes shine, how that ring
sparkles.
They see how my drinks sip away.
I've only just finished working,
and some clever friend of ours
– of yours –
I can hear him say he loves
my book. I am listening to you.
You say it often. Murmured softly
against the shape of her neck.
I always needed to remind you
to say the same to me. Oh, yes,
you were so forgetful.
I never said it though.
But you never missed a night  
with me. Did you ever miss me?
And behind your smile, I see pores.
The sweat on your forehead.
You're as nervous as you were,
with your thunderous heartbeats
kneeling in my apartment.
Asking me a question,
the numinous question,
I could never answer right.
Right next to my manuscript,
that held the weight of souls
I created, when I sacrificed
my own.
It's obvious now, a loaded gun,
pressed to my temple, filled with
conventions  and editor meetings  and
my detached penthouse.
I never said it.
It's after, that I think.
In the dimness, that I think.
And I can't stop myself from asking it.
How did I forget so easily?
I never said it back.


**V. K.