You think you know,

Of softened hurt and heavy load

Of broken screams and scattered songs

Of devotion for lover’s wrongs.

You think you know,

Of molded hands for passions sake

Of frozen grasp from passions wake

Of shaking fingers from abrupt distaste.

You think you know,

Of showered darkness in sunlit room

Of timid voice from silent shores

Of lover’s cry from essence core.

You think you know?

You don’t,

Even if you could…

You won’t.