Friendship Love

She is my lover, and yet, I’m her friend.
Or, could it be the other way around?
This modicum of happiness I’ve found
Is laced with regret. No, I don’t pretend
To understand nor offer hand to lend.
Pensive, prostrate, I strain to hear the sound
Of sweet relief. It’s muffled underground,
Perhaps? To dig a hole, I’ll not intend.

But still a question lingers in my mind:
Could clarity make all of this as clear
As night from day or ice from roaring fire?
I quiver; sometimes friendships are the kind
That fade, yet others lead to strong desire...
So maybe it’s the title alone I fear.

4.09
s.d.