you stood there, leaning on the door, your uneasy frame full of reproach, caution

your shirt, of magenta, and saffron, and emerald, and every other color of your poor attempt of reclaiming your youth

pleaded and grabbed and begged

at me,
at my attention,
at my forgiveness

but who could forgive
or forget

the screaming
the doors slammed off of their hinges
the hand raised, and instantly lowered with shock, disbelief, even fear, from us both

you thought the look of insincerity in your eyes was good enough

good enough?

good enough.

if that's what it would take
to get you off my door
out of my head
and far, far away from my heart