my lover does not love. 

My lover does not love 

In exponential words 

Nor does he liken me to the stars

Which he seldom observes

Dreary days discreetly passing 

My lover brings home his worth 

In papers bluey green

In hands stained red, calloused 

And I remain constantly in this spot; 

caught in the light and dark of him. 

There is no other truth I would rather see, 

There are no other loves I would care to believe. 

Caught here by the rays of his changing lights, 

I tiptoe, dance around his mind 

And he follows with his laughter, his surprise 

To see me so content in him. 

Our weights and measures, 

our warmest endeavours

Our ploys and leisures 

Our discreet treasures 

– these scales do not always tip in our favour – 

these scales do not always balance the view.

But we stand still. 

We stand – 

And I am a palette of all his words

I am a garnish over his tongue. 

I am that unearthed bilingual sense

that he never knew he had learned. 

My lover does not love 

In exponential words 

We are what we have chosen 

And four years gone, choose not to return. 

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One thought on “my lover does not love. 

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