I won’t live to ever be,
The person you’ve seen on TV,
An empathetically embarrassing attempt at convincing,
You and me and us that we’re,
All the same, after all,
Rose-gold tears and affordable boredom alike,
Drowning in the excess of egregious expectations.
I won’t forget your forever,
Which may be a curse more than a blessing;
Depending on how long it will take for you,
In your superhuman capacity for it,
To forgive my incapacity to carry,
The water you brought to save me,
Spilled out on the desert from my moment(s) of weakness.
I won’t die without knowing that we,
Among all of the background noise of,
Echoes of time to the rancor of right now,
Could hear one another in a way,
That no one else is ever going to bear witness to,
And none could claim,
Without knowing our love language.
Post-Neology 