I started writing about you that night

I started writing about you that night
and the next day you said you wouldn't make it
one word
then talebearing 'til 2
like skipping stones 
even if painted with bright lacquered lines 
they sink

I said I would hold it loosely
find value
so I wrapped esteem around tight
crocheting transparent lines
leaving space open 
residing in ambiguity with you 

it opened up
nearing worship 
like peeking in
being spoon fed 
one succinct moment at a time
I am probably too careful 

and if it hurts 
it is the kind of ache that also pulls
as your value and the corresponding risk increase 
it washes out in glowy middle
pinching as words turn to her

I would talk about it
if it paid it proper respect
and why is it so easy to talk to you? 
and you are careful too