You scare me.
Goddamn, you scare me.
You scare me more than you did yesterday
and you scared me then
but mostly because I was so frightened to talk to you.
Now, I’m scared of what you might say
what you might know.

You know too much.
You seem to know too much.
I’m scared you know too much.
I’m scared how much you know.
You look at me
and say things
and ask things
and allude to things
that suggest other things…
Just what DO you know?

I’m pretty sure I could learn to hate you
twice as much as I now yearn to know you
want to learn you
hope to have you
in any way that possession makes any sense
for one of your sensitivities.
But you don’t make sense to me
for as much as you seem
to unearth every gleam of me
and as much as I try to inch into understanding
of any aspect of you
I find over and over again
that I am lost
just as I am lost
by your confounded pronouncements.

You scare me
with so much that you say and advise
and I don’t even know
if all of what I’m saying’s meaningless
but if anyone could tell me
I suppose it would have to be you.