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Do You Love Me Still?
Nothing you do can change it;
kill it,
make me feel something.
Do you love me still?
Say it.
A poem faulters, it crys down her face;
of sweltered tears.
Fall to her hand, misplace, she can't smear all the words;
they get deeper, they never disappear.
Wilted, falling, backwards to the mirror.
Bittered: barely misses, nearly killed her; she'll never know what they say.
Because they differed,
and stray.
"Mrs.-everyone-reads-her-life-along-the-way."
I wont finish,
because she wont let me pray.
Kisses,
because she said, "GOD don't know her;"
it's just
if he did she wouldn't be alive in todays pictures.
Nothing you can do to change it;
kill it,
make me feel something.
Do you love me still?
Say it.
Uncomfortably;
her eyelashes strummed,
adjusting in front of me.
No music left to play suddenly.
Just our breath between life and death to say,
between eachothers company.
If only she knew she could mother me;
as she lay still,
hearing the pretty go toward the ugly.
It's something about getting to know her better
than letting her unlovingly love me.
Nothing you do can change it;
kill it,
make me feel something.
Do you love me still?
Say it.
