i wonder at myself:
where did i get these ideas
of how love sentiments
were made?
how can a person
who has never been loved
know what to say
& what is not meant to be
said by or to a lover?
and i say, ah, maybe it's the soul.
yet i think,
again and again,
perhaps again,
that maybe this soul
isn't mine to begin with—
it is borrowed to be returned,
and when this soul
tires of its host— its toy—
it disappears on the hunt
for another.
and poor me is left
with no words to say
and a mind shut.
