What do you deserve? Let's match
it up with what you had the nerve
to break. Concessions? Some poor sap's
fair shake?

No carefree drop-by-drop
of days taps your forgiveness-Morse.
They fall upon discourse, always
needing to know, exploiting loiter-
bones to cleave "now" from the crack
(two shades of never coming back).

None freer than the light you saw
when first you shook—still you won't dance
or cost, consume or hitch-hike. Backseat
to some error-formed device:
white lighting rolls the dice. Can we
upstand the boldness of his claim?
No doubt he felt ashamed—
that phantom, teasing wrinkles up
what we worked for.
(Why won't he visit more?)

Write down the weighted score:
your mild applause, their terror cries, and split
the difference with the outer set.
Catastrophe's the safest bet.