the sieve and the sand

there are times i sit here
reading of worlds and wondering
if i have ever known yours.
three years and can i say
i know what you’re thinking? or
finish your sentences with familiar
eloquence? sometimes i secretly
fear that i cannot especially
when i just end up cutting you off
from a thought diverging from,
say,
us.

I hate people’s non sequitur comments

About poems I write with a deep core meaning

When people say, “I love your poetry”

But miss my point and don’t comment on that

I’d rather receive constructive criticism

That shreds apart my work, revealing every single flaw

Than be told “It’s great” and not be told “I understand what you mean”