3 Apology poems

When I hurt you and cast you off, that was buccaneer work: the sky must have turned on the Bay that day and spat. We’d tarried on corners, we’d dallied on sofas, we were in progress, do you see? Yet stormcloud bruises bloomed where once we touched. The walls swam under minty fever; we failed to reach the long, low sleep of conquerors. Since I played wrong and you did too, since we were wrong, we need apologies; for your part in this sorry slip of hearts, you should walk on Golden Hill at night alone; for mine I will hang with my enemies, out on the long shore, our brigand bodies impaled on the horns of our failures, the cold day casting draughts through our brinkled bones.

Dead to the world I have failed you Forgive me, traveller. Thirsty, I was no fountain Hungry, I was not bread Tired, I was no pillow Forgive my unwritten poems: the many I have frozen with irony the many I have trampled with anger the many I have rejected in self-defence the many I have ignored in fear unaware, blind or fearful I ignored them. They clamoured everywhere those unwritten poems. They sought me out day and night and I turned them away. Forgive me the colours they might have worn Forgive me their eclipsed faces They dared not venture from the unwritten lines. Under each inert hour of my silence died a poem, unheeded

I wrote the apology three times before i sent it the first was defensive the second was too long the third was just sorry sorry was the right answer