Sought-love

Yes it is

True: I still seek

Your love, 

Even as you 

Express no 

Voice nor

Talk to me

Nor message

Nor stretch 

Your thoughts 

In my direction:

Nor even in my

General ways 

And

Means, like major

Contributions

Wise.

And I ask

Myself whys;

And I wonder 

So madly;

And after all

Humiliation, I

Still strive to

Understand what

If anything you

Offered up

Those two fab

Times in 

Dublin’s fair

Wondering of 

Joys quite

Love-

Ly and

Live

Ly.

So why did you

Make me bend

Down on wounded

Knew, and gift

You such a beautiful

Timepiece of

Such a curious life;

Of such a life 

And sincerely

Felt love?  Why

On this rock did

You top me in my 

Tracks, and make

Me look more

Foolish than 

Foolish I have

Ever 

Been?  Why

Did you want

This game of

Try?  Why

So insistent about

This

Shame?  

Was it

Just for sake

Of family spite?  

Was it 

Just a cheap scoring

Point?  Was it a 

Broken joint

Spliffed dumbly

Apart?  Or was

There a real 

Heart at its

Weirdly felt

Centre?  Did

You ever love me

True at all?

Or do you

Actually rue the

Day you chose

For us to

Cross our paths?

Tell me, please: it’s time 

You did,

I think.

And tell me, 

please: it’s time 

We did – in a 

way –

Rid ourselves of all

This

Remaining suspicion,

And clarify the

Air we

Even so

One day

Might share.

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