Nothing’s changed. Not how you wait
six months to return a call claiming
you’ve been very busy. Nothing’s changed.
Not how we speak of the past as though
it was a disease we both caught unaware
infected with each other’s mistrust. If there’s a cure
we haven’t found it yet. Nothing’s changed.
Not how you speak my name without its final
vowel, holding onto the s like a kiss
we shared that means nothing now. Nothing’s changed.
Not even our conversational ballet so graceful
and poised, pirouetting our words
spinning around what is left unsaid. Nothing