Of things that make it happen.

It starts simply enough. 
At one crazy moment, a leak in the faucet of good judgement, 
I give away, despite caveats, my happiness to your will. 
Flavors, distinct, overlap and grow confused;
entangled then disentangled are braids that've knotted themselves over the months,
in gloomy webs.


And then when you go away, 
it's not for once and all, 
you step in and step out; 
probe and question not knowing what it does to me.


wisps of your words return; 
wings span wide enough to shadow over my dreams and intrude in; 
look into my deepest secrets and desires; 
you unfurl things I don't want you to know. 
You read into everything though I want you not to.
Do you want it at all?


Because in the end, as we know, 
an inevitable death is not what you deserve, 
or anyone at all.