as if he knew
the peculiar pictures
behind my eyelids,
sleepless in sleep, ******* bruises
so bittersweet
to dream of you still
i hate you so much
and not at all, all at once

never trust him again
and he... he still misses me
he trusted me—he TRUSTS me
he trusts my steady quiet and
my shaking hands and
this and that of me
i missed him, i think
maybe, distractedly
but not really

only in a lie
and a liar isn’t me but
he makes me speak them so
since my honesty would hurt him
earnest and afraid, my admission:
i do not want to touch
his emotions
and so to curb the awkward truth
i missed him
and none the wiser