Seaming

And if I told you, muttering my dreams,
That one of them was to have been with you,
Would you take pity on the hundred reams
Of poetry presented for review,
Or simply slowly suck Cadbury creams
Allowing my self-torture to renew,
While watching me come open at the seams
Waiting to hear something from you too,
Whether disdain or pity, or (what seems
Most likely) both mixed up at once in lieu
Of any sweeter option (my heart deems
More than your pity too unlikely to
Be mine)? What would you do? I cannot tell.
But I am certain it would not end well.