I've told you-
I wilt in the light of no affection-
Great Lover of mine.

Great would-be Lover of mine
fore you never came to me.
I have nothing of you but words-
blasted words.
They shed no light
on affection.

Is this all I am to expect?
Will I be fiending after you,
for the rest of your days-
Like her-like them?

Or-
Do you only wish to share with me-
words?
They'll speak of passion-love letters unsent-
and an understood pain.
They'll be cunning-and full of unkept promises.
They'll keep alive what never was-
make it rain on paper-full of salt.
They'll say what we fear
to feel,
But only every once in a while-
when the pain
gets too much to ignore.
When promises become pleas
and nevers turn into grey maybes-
Then back to never once more.

And I'll wilt away-
a little flower-
lost in a desert-
of words.