You spoke to me

through your eyes,

in just a glance,

and half a smile

caught quickly in

the space that was

reserved just for us.

 

That said enough,

and too much, for

I knew what was

there could never

be released like a

spring bulb that

cannot come to

flower and offer

its vivid colours to

the waiting world.

 

Still, your eyes were

there, on me, off me,

in a tender cruel

game that I wanted

but did not wish

to see blossom at all.

 

And I returned the

furtive glance, and

looked away, feeling

the delight and the

agony sprung from

memories of what

this game used to be.

 

12/8/2021