On Paper

But I do not love you…
Unless it is on paper,
Where my pen runs freely
Looser than my lips or actions ever will.
Creating a romance that never was,
that could have been, that never will be.

Still I create poetry that pulls me back to you
And convinces me of hidden meanings
In my thoughtless prose
Which is more about who I am,
Than who you are to me.
But I am a poet; casting mixed signals
Because I’m afraid I will break your heart
If you can’t have me.
But I do not have me, no one has me.
Mine is an intangible love.
It does not exist.
And without capacity to house you.
I cannot be a home &am instead vacant
like the retail space born in this recession.

&so you are injured by me &cannot forgive me
For that which I never offered but that you insisted we should be.
.