Shut Up and Talk

Joy
Is a toy in the hands
Of the broken-hearted.

Dearly departed, fleeting
Smile: wait just a while and
Try to remember feelings
Dismembered, fast-cooling
Embers of passion gone by. Time
Flies in the face of progression.

(Or is it
Regression?)

Infinitesimal steps, new
Directions, new
Inflections, early detection, genuflection
Discreet and incautious. It’s making me
Nauseous, all this palaver; wouldn’t you rather
Be
With me?