We Have To Quit Meeting Like This, We Have To Quit Meeting, We Have To Quit

We're just here once, and, really, it has been
So long already since we two were born.
We've wasted time; it really feels like sin
To waste much more. We two, though, sad and worn,
Still fail. I flail, between our meetings, and
Forget you. Watch me now: I cry, I spit;
"Act like you give a shit," is my demand
Whene'er your arms come 'round me, as though it,
That one embrace, makes up for months, as though
You have the right to tell me "Come on back,
Drop ev'rything, do what I want." I know,
It's only me, old friend, who feels the lack
Of thought behind it, and who feels the pain.
Sunk costs are paid. What now is left to gain?

February 15th

Those roses, so much cherished yesterday,
Clutched close and sniffed, then put in water, look
More than a bit diminished, though they may
Last days yet ere they're cast away. It took
A moment's thought to get them at the store --
A quick stop, mayhap, on the day's commute.
The hope still lingers, though, that they mean more
Than just some token holiday salute.
Have they been given just to keep the peace?
Would they appear without this odd mandate?
When they fade and are tossed does that release
An obligation for the year? Such weight
To put on fragile blooms, and yet we do
Keep using them to say that "I love you."

In Which A Warning Is Whispered

Be careful, oh, if you ask for your space,
For those who really love you will accede
To your request, e'en though more than a trace
Of pain is theirs. Real love gives what you need
If it trusts in your word. So thus to me
It's happened: earnestly a plea is made,
And earnestly believed and honored, see,
Despite the private tears. And as I'm bade,
I've backed off, promised so to calmly wait,
And, waiting, tried to go about my days
With bravery, then suddenly -- too late --
I find I've lost what most I'd deeply praised.
The accusation's laid down at my door:
Desertion and indifference, the score.

SONNET DARE: In Which I Consider The Volatility Of Online Relationships

The written word is marvelous, unless
It is the only basis folks have got.
For understanding. It's too hard to guess
Intent behind bare words when they have not
A face to watch, a voice to listen to.
Relationships online have this pitfall
Built in before one thought, even, comes through
For misinterpretation. I won't call
This flaw a fatal one but it's severe.
Imagination fills in gaps that would
Best be left empty, and the common fear
That one is being dissed -- which never should
Come into play, still does -- and what we find
May shatter 'stead of bring us peace of mind.