two-sided things,
not monovalent states of being.

The second half of guilt is blame,
and anger’s naked backside, shame.

Embarrassment reveals defiance
while hope decays to troubled silence.

Sadness bleeds from pure elation,
sorrow’s core is resignation,

and love conceals a womb of grief
(though grief may someday bear relief).

Our hearts, with time, are torn asunder,
but mended, hold more space for wonder.

I wish I might’ve known before
the years lay shattered on the floor.

I wish I would've told you so,
but oceans ebb and rivers flow.

I wish I could've shown us how—
for that was this, and then is now.