I don’t know what response to give you now.
I wonder: can I leave your words alone?
Impelled to answer, I do not know how
to meet your sadness fairly. For the tone
of recent messages is poignant, blue,
in self absorbed, expressing pale cliches.
I wish I hadn’t read this part of you.
The spun kaleidoscope begins to craze.

A seam of sentiment will spoil more
than all the syllables we can produce
in thirteen weeks of correspondence. Sure
I want to know you, but I have no use
for affectation or reflexive pain.
I only love the way we entertain.