Inaction

Old curtains share the screams of old kettles,

Tailing off to mute and ending night-light,

All to break a message into my brain:

Tomorrow is another day of moving on.

And the moon and the street lamps,

Out of sight, deliver a riddle:

Forget the sound that comes after our light.

If you fail to speak, to romantic eyes,

Then consider yourself a boring coward. Cowardice

Is the space between carpe diem and suicide.

I don't believe there was romance in your eyes,
As you unraveled, tip-toed, to touch mine with your thumb,

Leaving me with a single line that nobody would read.