Oh. Sorry! I didn't  
see you there  
Never looking where I’m going. 
His lips part slightly  
The skin is broken by the January air, 
It’s as if  
He will speak  
But no sound ever arrives 
 
There’s nothing to be sorry about. 
 
He hands me a note 
Intoxicated by the spring rain 
There is just one word  
With six letters  
Coffee? 
I do not return his enthusiasm. 
His smile becomes a fallen crescent, and I will wait  
For the sun to come back 
I’m sorry 
 
There’s nothing to be sorry about.  
 
He exchanged quiet confessions and  
Glances that told me every abstraction. 
And of our summer months 
Hints of obsession hid maybe 
Behind conversations of  
Film  
And music  
And life  
And ‘I’m sorry’s'
 
And there was never anything to be sorry about. 
 
The winter months lasted  
He lost his ‘I’m sorry’ and with it left 
Sorry 
From seven letters 
To five 
From hints of passion 
To clear  
And undisputed  
hostility. 
Finding myself  
Repeating his favourited words after every silent  
Inconvenience  
And always,  
 
There’s nothing to be sorry about.  
 
Once a hand  
Broken by the November air  
Hit me  
There should’ve been something  
to be sorry about.  
With a blackening of purple skin 
Came the injuring of something else  
Something much deeper  
That ate away  
At Him.  
And at me.  
Something that made him  
Make me black and blue 
 
And I never said that was something to be sorry about.