telephone

"I love you but I'm sorry"
will be twisted deviously, I'm afraid,
by the ears that yerned to hear my voice
for so long-
I will be made a serpant,
striking all but blindly
with these venom fangs, if only
in his eyes -and that is enough-
my heart yet beats in tune with his,
each soft peal ringing more loudly than a gong,
speeding my tongue to certain
whip-snapping pain
-I cannot bear it-
but I know... I must

as soon as the words drip into his ears
I know what new hope I will have
trampled to death
-a bud living no longer than a single breath-

-a sweet poison, indeed, my love is-

"I love you but I'm sorry" will curl,
gnarling its honest, gentle sadness,
quickly becoming that which I despise:
a knife twisting the pain within you
-
and yet,
I can almost hear your soft reply,
a single tear,
quiet treamor rippling your strong voice,
a whispered, "I know"
filled with immense regret