You Listen

Prove that you listen, then turn away,
just at the height of excitement -
just turn away.

Every word, solid in format,
every expression in question,
as I listen and hope I'm right,
this time.

The words start my mind
on a sifting search,

examine and research
all the lines...

Which lies are mine?
Which lies are yours?


Am I speaking like a poet again?

Too confusing in words and double-meaning,
just like you, sometimes...

"Love, love, love, love, love, love -"

that chant I still need,
though I'm tired of the sorting
required to decifer these puzzle-games of words.

Mistrust and the hurts of the past
have ruined me,
and when I mistake,
misunderstand, misinterpret,
it is because of that past world
that still lives in me.

Every word is vibrant, burning, and permanent.
I'll keep watch over them all,
each and every time,
in fragility of this thing of mine -

or ours(?)...

My life is hinged on your world,
involuntarily.
For every time that I try to disconnect,
something (the tiniest thing) subtly intervenes,
reinforces belief, and I watch closely, again,
for you to attempt to offer secret proof
that you listen.