Well,
I love you badly. The phrase
falls from my mouth like a slate
kicked from a lonely roof,
and shatters. I love you badly:
there's nothing for it, either,
but to take you by the heart
and tell you, in the debris,
that if it was an accident
(which you deny, and I insist,
and vice versa, too) just how
I watched its spiralling descent
towards the ground, although
my lids were shut like scars,
and how it made me clumsy
to be careless, or how,
despite it all, I loved you badly.
I do not have a bastard chance
or half a lifetime to explain
the truth about my trip: or
how badly I love you, as well.