I knocked on the door,

Not expecting an answer

Much less to be received

 

So when he opened up in contour,

Spoke with me without waver

I conversed to be believed

 

Me, nothing less, nothing more

Me, not me minus the stutter

And if not all of me, still, me

 

Should he shut the door,

I’d think, “it’s what I would prefer”

For I knew not of joviality

 

This was all long before

Before he proved to not defer

Before, not now, before unhappy

 

He’s gone, out the very same door

I searched high and low for pleasure

But found him in no locality

 

He promised me more

“Until next time” I’d inferred

I crack with his lack of fidelity

 

He questioned all the world

Nonetheless he’d ensured

He questions not his integrity

 

He’s gone, left not his contour

Not a thing, no words preserved

Not a thing, but everyone, me