Restore me to you,
to how you used to be,
to who you were before.
I don’t like this closing
you’ve imposed
on us.
Little polite smiles
of inattention,
and holding me
as if
you’d just as soon let me go.
Your neck stiffens when I move
to kiss you.
Sometimes you even turn your back,
pretending not to see.
If you are in the process
of cauterizing your love for me,
give me the honesty directly,
instead of the random hints
that hit and hurt like boxers’ jabs.
I will not beg for love from a coward.
Restore me back to us,
when the joy and love in your eyes
at seeing me reflected my own for you.
Restore me to when
we danced and traveled,
played and loved,
and only warred over chess boards,
and sometimes puzzles.
Restore me to when
you diffused and disarmed my temper
with a witty comeback that made us both laugh.
Restore me, or leave the workshop
of our love,
and let it be unfinished.
I’d rather not leave first,
but I’m falling out of love
right behind you.
I can lay my feelings down,
set my affection aside,
and rather you break my heart
than play with it.
Beyond Panic 