I never said I love you,
Though if I did,
I said it like a philosopher,
With words deliberate and measured,
Tentative –
Questioning Love’s meaning,
Its myriad parameters, manifestations,
Expressions,
Attaching disclaimers hoping to debunk
Romance’s mythological aspirations,
While with a bated, second breath
I cited its transcendent qualities,
Secretly hoping they were possible to achieve.
Then, to myself, honoring the comfort of your breath,
I would sheepishly admit that being in love –
A recondite admission at best –
Was better than being alone.
I never said I love you,
Though if I did
It was only in the place of anger –
My lurching, desperate words
A passive-aggressive plea to be recognized, subsumed,
Held up in the cradle of security.
Like that time when my father died and I had to travel
Half-way across the continent with money I didn’t have
To be his lone eulogizer;
To collect his ashes only to leave them on the train
And find, day in and day out,
That no one turned them in to the lost and found.
All the while there was you
Chastising me my incorrigible lethe,
Then turning smugly away, forgetting
That not a soul assisted my journey –
Not even you, my love,
Who stayed behind luxuriating with money
And friends you did have,
Loving me in your self-satisfied way,
With phone calls on the cell phone
You bought me for the occasion,
Prying from my stoney lips
Those words . . .
Always right before hanging up.
I never said I love you,
Though if I did,
It was when I was drunk, and so were you,
And there was laughter in the borderless field;
And we like aquatic angels were swimming
With translucent wings
Along an endless stream of possibility,
Howling cavalier exclamations
In camouflaged tongues,
As if knowing that all –
And of a sudden –
Would evaporate as all magic does,
With the blink of a weary eye
At the soundless morning call;
Leaving us with erased memories,
Headaches, cotton mouth,
And eyes unable to meet the golden light.
I never said I love you,
Though if I did,
I didn’t know what I was saying,
Nor perhaps what I was
Not saying.
I never said I love you,
As if three words comprised an anchor
And your heart a bottomless sea;
As if your saccharine cliches,
Your shine-eyed eternal promises,
Your long-winded, osculant kisses,
Your emotional transferences and
Your wiles, sneaking about the cage of my laconic heart,
Would somehow braid a sticky, sinewy ligature
That would bind me in eternal rue.
I never said I love you,
Though if I did
I take it back,
Because I never said it right.
And if ever I see you again –
Though it will only make you scoff,
And prompt you anew,
In one final, parting tremor,
To spatter my error
With the blood of your unrequited heart –
I will say those words.
And I will say them with a tenor
Worthy of their sound,
Even though it won’t change a thing.
Because now, only after years of practiced surrender,
Do I know what they mean;
And know too
That they apply to you,
Belong to you;
That they sing a song of reckoning,
However artless and clumsy,
That is,
Or at least was,
You and I
Though if I did,
I said it like a philosopher,
With words deliberate and measured,
Tentative –
Questioning Love’s meaning,
Its myriad parameters, manifestations,
Expressions,
Attaching disclaimers hoping to debunk
Romance’s mythological aspirations,
While with a bated, second breath
I cited its transcendent qualities,
Secretly hoping they were possible to achieve.
Then, to myself, honoring the comfort of your breath,
I would sheepishly admit that being in love –
A recondite admission at best –
Was better than being alone.
Though if I did
It was only in the place of anger –
My lurching, desperate words
A passive-aggressive plea to be recognized, subsumed,
Held up in the cradle of security.
Like that time when my father died and I had to travel
Half-way across the continent with money I didn’t have
To be his lone eulogizer;
To collect his ashes only to leave them on the train
And find, day in and day out,
That no one turned them in to the lost and found.
All the while there was you
Chastising me my incorrigible lethe,
Then turning smugly away, forgetting
That not a soul assisted my journey –
Not even you, my love,
Who stayed behind luxuriating with money
And friends you did have,
Loving me in your self-satisfied way,
With phone calls on the cell phone
You bought me for the occasion,
Prying from my stoney lips
Those words . . .
Always right before hanging up.
Though if I did,
It was when I was drunk, and so were you,
And there was laughter in the borderless field;
And we like aquatic angels were swimming
With translucent wings
Along an endless stream of possibility,
Howling cavalier exclamations
In camouflaged tongues,
As if knowing that all –
And of a sudden –
Would evaporate as all magic does,
With the blink of a weary eye
At the soundless morning call;
Leaving us with erased memories,
Headaches, cotton mouth,
And eyes unable to meet the golden light.
Though if I did,
I didn’t know what I was saying,
Nor perhaps what I was
Not saying.
As if three words comprised an anchor
And your heart a bottomless sea;
As if your saccharine cliches,
Your shine-eyed eternal promises,
Your long-winded, osculant kisses,
Your emotional transferences and
Your wiles, sneaking about the cage of my laconic heart,
Would somehow braid a sticky, sinewy ligature
That would bind me in eternal rue.
Though if I did
I take it back,
Because I never said it right.
And if ever I see you again –
Though it will only make you scoff,
And prompt you anew,
In one final, parting tremor,
To spatter my error
With the blood of your unrequited heart –
I will say those words.
And I will say them with a tenor
Worthy of their sound,
Even though it won’t change a thing.
Because now, only after years of practiced surrender,
Do I know what they mean;
And know too
That they apply to you,
Belong to you;
That they sing a song of reckoning,
However artless and clumsy,
That is,
Or at least was,
You and I
AN ~
