Poem: 9 Months Too Late

She writes the words,
I've been waiting to hear,
nine months too late.
Bad words have been shared
between us now.
Not knowing if I can
trust her word
anymore.
Not knowing if I can
take the pain again
of hearing her say
"I don't love you."

Fair to say she did not
treat me gently.
I would say she did not
treat me kind.
In the end, that is,
always in the end.

Of course I would love to see her.
I can feel it in my bones.

With a sneeze she could destroy me.
In my broken, hungry, lonliness.

I'd love her to insist on seeing me,
to visit me lavishly;
Buying me ciggarrettes and apologising
for all the mean things she wrote to me.
Telling me after all this time,
that I was right
and she was wrong;
She does love me!
And she's realized she can't fight it
anymore.

Somehow life
does not seem to work out that way.

She probably wants to
"be my friend."
Maybe that's all she's ever wanted from me.
Just waiting for me to "wake-up"
and stop my "infatuation" with her.

If that's the case,
she really doesn't know me
that well after all.
And her e-mails wern't that "Friendly."