the inexplicable is you in the midst of a crowd

ever loved, ever chinned, for my eyes to see
I bring yet more trouble, outbidding those who touch you
unhurt by this weight upon me , I lean, and kiss your forehead
softly whispering words uncombed by thoughts, my usual mistakes
discovered, when I repeat your name

the hundreds of years, questioning, second guessing myself
merely steering, as you fake your death, diluted into a chorus
a grand opera, confusingly ascending the opposite way
a speech that provokes me, pressing your fingers across my chest

a sympathy much too apologetic, calling itself doctrines