What We Both Know

I could never, ever tell you why

There’s something underneath the shadows

Of my eyes, of the time, of the rhymes

I spend in excess devoted to you

There’s a lady in white, smiling right back at me

There’s a lady in white, smiling in the mirror

Right behind me

At first, I thought she was looking at us

Casting a glamorous countenance

Upon a shy man

Then I thought she was looking beyond

Casting a mirage upon parched maleness

Waters to be drunk only in the mind

Of a selectively silent man

Unafraid to write “ask” but afraid to say

Now I know she was looking neither at me

Nor behind me

But instead, through me

Wondering at the hole in my heart would lead

Pondering at the emptiness in my voice

As it leaves trembling diaphragm

Why are my written words so strong

But spoken so weak

Why do I attract other writers, confident and cunning

But hardly any friends

Am I genuinely becoming a loner in the making

Or something else altogether

Is that what she is looking for?

I wish she’d tell me she loved me

I wish she’d tell me she cares

Instead of never mind

Or hours of painful silence

I wish I could tell her face to face

What I think we both know is true

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