which you gave
to others
was love
whose two vowels had
collapsed
and evaporated
in the friction
which resulted
from the
toil of
conversation.
*
Perhaps, this anger
which you once wielded
like a sword
was patience
gone sour—
not because
its presences was
unwelcome at dinner,
but just
from being left out
on the counter too long
afterward.
*
Perhaps, this sadness
which you cannot seem
to rinse clean
was joy
that's now threadbare
from being stretched
too aggressively
for too long around
too many
ungainly things.
