Love never goes away.
It follows us.
It’s the girl
who watched us leave the room.
The man who followed your steps
never to see you again.
The friend who never admitted
what the friend knew.
How love tormented them
and left by way of hidden doors.
We should have a day
commemorating unspoken love.
Love lost in windows,
terminals,
the commerce of crowds,
surrounding us,
yet never speaking.
Arms that need to embrace us
put notes in hidden places,
arrangements of flowers,
songs of rivers.
And we go on,
unaware
how open love is,
how pervasive.
And for want of a sense
for love,
that sees it all,
saying,
I am yours.