Every hour of every day,
In some clichéd way,
I think of you
At least twice.
I’m a friend,
I know.
You say it too much,
It chafes me raw.
Are you really that dense?
Or maybe it’s a ruse,
A system you’ve devised
To keep me at bay,
Because you just don’t feel
The same way.
I’m crazy about you,
I admit,
If you saw me now,
You’d recognize the guilt,
Brightly scrawled across my face,
Like a neon sign:
The coffee, the talks, the long walks?
All excuses,
Preambles for profound, passionate lovemaking,
That never materialized.
I don’t think it ever will.
Adieu! Farewell my friend,
I wish you all of life’s best,
I’ll cross the sea to forget you and rest,
Sail somewhere faraway,
Like Portugal or Paraguay.
Then,
On a lonely afternoon,
You’ll phone for yet
Another friendly talk,
Expecting me – your anchor, your rock,
Steam will blow out your ears hissing:
‘She is missing! She is missing!’
Will you sigh and say,
‘Ah! My Love has gone away’?