Stefanie LeJeunesse

I thought that you might say it but you didn’t

I thought that you might say it, but you didn’t.
You won’t. A sentiment misred
then stutters, useless, like a dampened flint.

No fingers twined, no saccharine endearment
but bated breath and bitten tongues, instead.   
I thought that you might say it, but you didn’t.

The forest floor keeps quiet, nascent
growth emerges from its littered bed
then stutters, useless, like a dampened flint.

We two exist, we age, adjacent,
and your hands cradle someone else’s head.
I thought that you might say it, but you didn’t.

The flicker of a sideways glance’s glint
dims and surges, threatens to stop dead
then stutters, useless, like a dampened flint

Fortune abandons the impatient.
Resolve aims true and straight ahead
then stutters, useless, like a dampened flint.
I thought that you might say it, but you didn’t.