Fly?

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

No, you will never know the thousand hints

That he would send you, wrong and silent type

That he insists on being.  Sonnet glints

Among his messaging? Well, no.  The hype

Of rose bouquets?  Well, no.  Don’t count on such,

Though even they might be ambivalent

In meaning.  Maybe he expects that touch

He gave to tell you all.  Equivalent

To callous torture you night think it is,

You think he is.  Perhaps you could deploy

Your intuition and might make him fizz

With unexpected meaning as your toy.

  Fat chance, you’re guessing.  Maybe if you cup

    One tender part, he’ll turn and open up.

~ Phillip Whidden