What Goes Unsaid (Poetry)

When you are gone I know
I’ll be free to love you more
than I’m able to all the while you live.

For death will make it so
much simpler than before —
you won’t reject the warmth I want to give.

In life you’re brittle-cold
self-contained you sit
while love waits so patient in the wings.

But now you’ve gotten old
and mellowing a bit
thoughts turn to softer, deeper, kinder things.

I’ve almost heard you sigh
or murmur a regret
scared stiff to say certain thoughts aloud.

I still can’t catch your eye
or read your face, and yet
your armour rusts — you seem a tad less proud.

Is there a nerve to touch —
a way to make you feel
connected — let heart rule (for once) the head?

It isn’t asking much
to share some time that’s real
love undeclared until you’re safely dead.