In love speaks to hurt
as it does to worth,
in angles that extract
and tend to leave lack.
The ubiquity of words
on the tip of the tongue
tied us up in dead language,
the sort spoken against facts
that checked out long ago.
Whatever couldn’t be said
went without saying instead,
no neutral tones contrived
from wandering lies
and wondering whys.
It’s how the feels right
ends up gone wrong—
foundations pile on
a shifting blame,
each speck hitting at random
like passions out of fashion.
More than characters
get caught in the click-send.