The shallow end of words
Where rambutan minnows
Only exist because she
Allows them some nights
Of leisure until love hints
And then the communicae swept.
A declaration so divine yet
So devastating that it can’t be
True, it mustn’t, for I have
Believed so long and kept
Carrying my heart in my pocket
Waiting to give when ripe
That this seance is reversed.
If this is the way, then
Assume I stick to the trot
And bring up our future
As simple friends, one
Questions persists in this:
Can I manage in the middle?
Between the swallowed laughter
And the awkward silences,
There is real, swimming want
And it is this belief which has
Been a burden and an unopened
Box of better days, possible, please,
For the see-saw dreams of lost men
Like me and my merchant heart.