I recently overheard a conversation I had
about two years ago. It was a Saturday;
near dusk.

You couldn't let go,
I don't hold it against you.

I heard music then, too.
A lamenting viola wept
because I would not.
Hours passed and you stood still.

You never said, "I love you."
And I didn't either, but
in youth love does not feel so fleeting.
Hold me in regard above what I deserve.

Hold me like you held me,
like I held you, like we
hold our breath and hope
for sunny days. Let me
sing a sullied psalm
for our love without passion. Let me

invent our lost feelings
of lust and fervor. Let me sigh
and we'll pretend
it all meant something else.