“I love you,” said pathetically sincere,
like drool that falls from numb and lonely lips
and stains a shirt, already dark with tears
and rain that marks the end of sinking ships:
confessions spake too late are never heard,
are never mulled by jury or by judge,
and while they may transgressions yet deter,
they claw the throat, and future loves begrudge;
our journey lasted longer than we know,
for particles entangled share a heart,
and while the universe forever grows,
each beat remembers start to end to start.
These ties that bind prescribe our epitaph –
alone we hope to find our other half.