I thought I understood. That the elements were in place.

That the usual signs meant the usual things, so how was I to know that

this time the signs were topsy turvy? That when all road signs pointed

toward a sure and certain love, but that you had gone off (again)

sulkily believing yourself unlovable, hence believing even me incapable

of loving you.

Such constant reassurance; it wears on the heart until we are as a stone

worn thin and over-polished, or a piece of over-whittled wood thin and

so brittle.

The expected equation could be so simple be a. + b = c:

but with you, life could never be so simple.

Always must you throw in at least six other impossible and irrelevant

variables. Dear, they have no bearing. Can you

not see how you gum up works?

This is so simple really: why a poem is hardly required!

I leave you then this note.

If you expect to be kissed, erase your blackboard of

impossible equations. Now, diagram it out: Yes , draw simple X.

Now kiss me.