If you will not understand my silences
how, then, my words?
I offer them up in subtle looks
the perfume I wore just for you
shorn high heels so I would seem shorter than you
all those things, and others.
my love, a sublime subtlety
Only now do I have cause for doubt
not of you, no, but of what you saw
is there an underneath to me?
A poet can write only from their experience;
but the trick of poetry lies in making
experiences universal.
I find I have nothing more to say
only hope which is a feeling and not a word
I give you my hope, not subtle: - This!
This is my heart! Take it!
Keep it somewhere not safe! Devour it!
Enjoy it! But do I say any of these words?
Only you can know that.
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