Then. Perhaps. My sorrow.

I'll stick to my writing, then. Perhaps.

Then, perhaps, my silent voice might
be a draw. A rock, scissors epitah to
the loss of our love.
                            *she sighs aloud*

I'm not singularly thinking of you. I wonder
also about him.  But where does that leave
me? Or you? A dream away. I reach. You shun
my love as you send a message to her.
The goddess of your far away dream.  She runs to you
as I watch with despair in my tears.