Not to get all Robert Frosty, but we’ve been at this crossroads before

And taken one turn or the other

That seem to  circle back seeking light through a dim trail blocked  by near misses, misunderstandings,

anger, blame, tears,  emptiness that comes from disappointment.

 So we determined march on, scrape away our steps, throw up the shield and craft

the plastic face that hides the shimmer of taste and desire and the woe of

kisses never completed, lips never touched, hands and moist fingers distant,

words incomplete, hollow breath, left standing in a growing distance, a rising sky, shrinking inside the shell, a voice too small to crack the rising silence.

Forgetting we strewed the path with flowers and empty tea cups, buds wrapped in newspapers delivered secretly, Caribbean beaches, the light of you, all the stuff  that never balances the words not said the touches missed, a stumbling walk that fills your eyes with sadness because it all should have been better, deeper, thrilling, burning, joy screaming, not silent and cold on a path that finds a dark  end.