I can't.
place a white rose on the porch of your worksite,
because it's not your porch.
What would an old man do in a chair with a rose,
that has not already been written in a poem before?
write you a song to ease the worry of my night
because my roommate has asked for silence.
How could she listen to a song written in the shape of a heart
that doesn't fit between her ears?
send you a text to shout out in the dark,
because lately you haven't been shouting back.
What would you write besides goodnight,
that wasn't already said in well-rehearsed prose in my head?
call you to ask and to wonder,
because it's 1:35 a.m. in the morning,
and I am worried you'll answer,
What would I say then to you, but,
I can't
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