There will come a time
the felt-tip end of my road
or yours
when I will know
a searing kind of knowing
that I could have been kinder.
I can already feel my fingernails
dig in
wanting a bit more time
to be better.
You would say
you are amazing
I’m a lucky man
but why are we not more scrupulous
with words
with the ones we love.
I’m sorry I don’t always reside
in the enormity of that understanding
I’m sorry the small me
sometimes makes
all the noise.
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