What love we could become
still breathing
could never actively restore
what I have stolen
silently
and you have thrown away
more protesting loudly

What I have stolen
could never be worth more
than all your warm felt passions

Compassion freely given
and I have coldly paid
to not feel again

It feels so easy to love you
more than me,
and I have always loved you most
when I can know,
without self doubt,
you might again love Us

As we are today,
unlike yesterday’s diversions
and not yet quite as great
as tomorrow’s still open gate.