Promises have no small print.
They are to be weighed with care.
They are not mere words spoken.
They prove only truth not dare.
They act as a sacrament:
A foundation set in stone:
Love’s finger codes each of them,
Fate makes each of them atone.
They are providential:
They become subject to suit
Even the smallest flower,
When it was yet just a root.
Promises are marks of love,
Just hunger is what they ease.
They mark a higher power,
For hope is what they increase.
When you tell me
You need time
To get over love
You gave to be mine,
You fail to measure
One tiny thing:
This feeling, like
A golden ring,
Moulded between us,
In passion and desire,
Thoughts and promises,
All sorts of fire –
Forged despite hate,
Friends and others,
Resenting fathers,
Forgiving mothers.
Time is given
To those who need it.
To practise logic
And all that feeds it.
Time is needed
When you choose to forget.
What time need I,
If love is to be met?
It’s a breathlessness
That’s engulfing
A sleeplessness
That’s terrifying.
A sense of loss that’s worse than
Bereavement –
Because I know you are alive
But I can’t get to you.
You can’t say I have
Not made you smile
With love,
Hugged you hard, when you were sad.
Even if I caused you to cry,
When I felt bereft.
I am falling in a limbo
And
I am blind
because I love you,
And
all I feel is pain
Because you aren’t here to love me back.
You say I won’t keep you happy
But a few days before
You wanted me
A few days before you missed me
So much
You felt a breathlessness
That’s terrifying.
A few days before you loved me.
Hearts Still Care 
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