Balances:

What you call love sounds more to me like coins

rattling in an empty cup. Or ledger

entries kept in balance. What you've done

and what I've done must match. A friendly merger

of complementing souls. You talk of love

like something that you own but you aren't in.

But I was lost in rosy forecasts. I dove

into the deal. My assets: yours. I'd burn

the midnight oil when you made statements, pore

over figures that didn't add up. In fact,

you shielded your assets from me, and you stored

my gifts until I could no longer act.

       And when your profit goals could not be met,

       you stopped your love like you would stop a check.

Creative Scribblings Home

Spam-O-Matic Home