There are memories
I have concealed
Jealously
In deep hushed forests
Of dark pine trees
Each needle
A jabbing thought of you.
Deep memories
Buried in winter
That came tumbling out
Because a friend
Was owed some honesty.
Could you,
Make me feel a bit or more or too much?
Not today, not again
Always, forever.
I love you still
Madly and sadly
And differently
And samely.
I love you still
But there isn’t any still
In you or in me.
So I love you
Not as much as I should
Far less than I could
But more,
Far more than I thought.
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