Once

I could have said I loved you, once. Would that
Have made a difference? Would you understand?
Or would you have, much as before, laughed at
The honesty? I know you think it's grand
To act like only cynicism counts,
But once, at least, I thought you realized
That disbelief, heaped up in such amounts
Is toxic. If not, then in the end I much misprised
Your virtue, which of course is possible.
I hoped then I was wrong; I hope so still.
For I still feel the slow, magnetic pull
That urges me to love against my will.
I might give in, if I thought I could see
Such an admission not mocked viciously.