stood

the dialogue is impatient.

i can feel his agitation

and i hear between his empty verbiage

everything he won't say.

ninety percent,

down from ninety-eight

just months ago.

progress was made.

still, it isn't enough,

embracing the unexpected.

so i subdue, habitually,

the instinctual exclamation.

i do hate surprises,

and liars always tell on themselves.

even if it is a celebration,

my champion's sword

carries two edges from its hilt.

my stones roll impossibly

as i kick them up the hills i climb.

he is leaving me,

and nobody is left right.

spite and vengeance as his guide,

he is leaving me.

but he can't leave me desolate.

he still tries desperately.

i now know what seeds i have,

and i intend to grow.

a new season

brings both relief and bereavements.

he won't read my poetry,

he refuses to see me at all

in any light but dimly lit.

it all seems so auto-identifying,

so "one-size-fits" intelligence

from so far,

at the length of both arms

hanging loosely from my humid body.

sultry illustrations dance

from the void between the empty pages

just from the eye

contact i make, alone.

his book resembles a riddle.

the papers match what the trees say.

many words to mutter nothing.

he leaves me wanting, needing something.

the harvest here won't feed minds.

all he had to do was believe.

i thought i was afraid

to be unsolvable;

stood on one leg and blind-folded;

to be rejected, abandoned, met with misunderstanding;

to be surrounded by the shadows;

for my intentions and effort to go unnoticed.

ghostly echoes trapped by

the emotional gravity.

blackhole romance,

a singularity in massive love

but my fear now sees itself.

and then it sees itself out.

cause even fear knows,

the only thing in life to fear is its own reflection.

as within, as without.