These Things Poem by William Cook

I miss u more
than all my tomorrows
these futile lines
bleed heartfelt sorrow
bemused regret
that falls on only
deaf ears
& mute heart
clenched like a fist
in your beautiful body
to tell u these words
& have u respond
anything...
anything, would do
& yet i know
this miracle does not exist
in this world
that this gift is something
u don’t wish to give
or do not have to give to me
the false illusion of your love
has fooled me deeply
pulled me deeply into u
my senses dazzled
with the promise of u
with this fiction
of my own construction
these words
will possibly amuse u
take time to get thru to u
confirm your judgement of me
find a shallow grave
within your hearth
burning
close to your heart
stoked with limbs of love
but they must be said,
these things, this way.
For this, is my lonely, last attempt,
at love.