I am sorry

that you never truly

Loved me

I am sorry that to love you meant

being made of wood, vinyl and string

an incomprehensible piece of art

that could not be understood because

it had no meaning

just hanging on the dark green wall

to be admired and revered

by hipsters of all ages

 

I am sorry

that you never truly

Loved me

I am sorry that flesh and bone, blood and veins

clouds and lingering sunlight, green grass and soft petals

were but a distraction

from your true calling

kept you from your rightful place

amongst the In Crowd

known for possessing artistic ability

rather than fully realizing it

 

I am sorry

that you never truly

Loved me

I am sorry that when I longed to touch your precious skin

you continued to call it

fucking

rising in the morning from our bed

so distant, as though the joining,

our bodies succulent, stems pushing

out from the earth and beyond the exosphere,

had never occurred

 

I am sorry

that you never truly

Loved me

I am sorry that I returned

time and time again

believing it when you said

you desired, wanted

for there not only to be

you and me, but needed us

the reality being that there was only ever

you and them