wandering through my head
you'd slid the idea in again.
i'd let you fill in that space
and taken time figuring out
where it was you made it through.

there's nothing i pointed out
as you poignantly accepted
the deception and lingering
that would come afterwards
when you did what you'd done.

now that it was called
what we'd called it that night
there's nothing more for me to say
i've never written what was right,
and you have no say in this.