I wasn't afraid to lose
until I lost,
fear did not fade away,
now I fear you won't come back.

On Sunday, go to church. Worry about singing too loud and fear saying anything “ungodly”.
Later on Sunday, get home and go find something to do (don’t bother Dad). Feed the dogs and don’t overfill the bowls past the base or else you pay for the bag. Mow the lawn as well on Sunday and don’t leave any mow-hawks. That leaves the yard presentable. Next, help Mom with dinner, and don’t clang the pans loudly. Don’t let the sink water hammer because that will ruin the pipes. Don’t give dad a glass cup( and always give him the biggest serving) .Wash the table and use dad’s homemade disinfectant spray (it makes him feel proud). At seven, -- and don’t miss it for the world—get the dogs out again a quickly as possible.   Then wait until a commercial comes on before going to bed (the news is important to dad, so don’t interrupt it).

Kind eyes, you are hollow.
My chest caves in with every word.
"I love you" weighted on each end.
The inhale sharp with longing,
forming words I hardly know.
And every exhale brings you back to me,
every ending circles you around.
I don't recognize the words.
"I love you" hinders on safety,
while we border urgency.
Our arms grabbing what we have left.
Desperately pulling ourselves back up.
Drawing us together again with every
"I love you,"
paired with every
*"I'm sorry."

A stolen glance a
Playful wink
Love eternal sworn in ink
Teacher confiscates the letters
Forced to read
Out loud
Beautiful sonnets that would
Make Shakespeare proud