Sensitive Sorrow Stream

My intuition:
a hot knife.
not dissimilar to the ones pressed together over the kitchen stove.
but this time i'm scared sober.

falling victim to expectations
i never knew existed.
unsure why i asked that question,
("are you alone?")
if you cannot handle rejection -
stop baiting the subject.

and so,
with the door finally closed
i said,
"i guess i loved you
in my own way,
where i'd never say
(did i let it show?)
and i guess it doesn't matter
now
these words are steam.
and i'm regressing
back to the lakeside
where we bathed
in something tangible."

my heart's so large
and fickle;
it's unmanageable.
it didn't mean to consume you,
or let you escape so easily.