We Knew

Since I can not write you a verse on love

then it must be I do not love you;

and yet your very presence

brings a permanent shade of blue:

depression of love, or lack?

There is no meaning in your lust,

and yet it has taken my meaning.

Parasitic need for attention?

Like metal covered in rust,

though I can not,

I will not wait forever.

Shall you come to me on a morrow

I may or may not have grown out of this.

All the heart and time you borrowed,

all of it shall be worthless.