I want you to tell me that you need me-

is that so hard?

I want you to see me and not turn away.

I carve sometimes even a gentle glance

or better

a soft touch and softer voice saying

'are you ok?"

Rejection cuts like a dull knife

and kindness is a hurtful stranger

when not freely given and often

is a poor substitute

for love

abandoned.

Seeing you retreat inward

crushes my soul

and makes me feel weak-

too weak to make it stop-

too weak to reach out-

to draw you out-

too weak for me to even cry sometimes.

No greater pain

than the pain of feeling unloved;

no greater din

than the din of silence

tensioned born.
 

The shortest arm

is the one which

wants to reach out

but is always too short of the lover in retreat;
 

no hand ghostlier than the one which freezes

just after you have turned Love's Face away.

So sex even is spiritless

yet better than

the beer and cigarette

haze

in which I sometimes find you

at the three am--

TV snowing.
 

Worse, for any woman

or any man

beyond even all this

is the unmistakable sense

that you long for that something else;

foraging with your eyes

to some stranger passer-by;

and I, lover, cannot re-direct

those longing looks

back my way

intoning in my soul;

'Don't you see

I am the one who loves you?"

We are ghost ships

drifting upon the dead sea

and yet

curse me for the time being-

I'd rather drift in this maelstrom

with you

than anyone else;
 

so deep is my love.