Ouch. I don't recall many of your poems ending with such denouement, usually it makes me go back and forth with assumptions. This one hurts. You play with words like Gordon Ramsay plays with dough.
In love, maybe we are always hesitant in exposing our emotions but always firm with turning the page. So many of us are hummingbirds for other people, sometimes I wonder if its courage or insensitivity. The narrator here however seems like to have been aware of this bird's nature from the beginning and perhaps that's why I've not noticed a victim's tone in any of the verses. Your untitled poems are my favorite.
This one hit so hard, and I wonder, is it intentionally untitled? Would a title not sufficiently sum up and express what the poem so aptly does?
I love how articulate your are, how the last two lines stood on their own. How you shared the soft beauty and amazement, then hesitancy, then perhaps wonder in the eyes of love, then transience. Nothing staying the same. A trust, maybe not broken yet, but contemplating if that loyalty will remain.
The imagery/metaphor/comparison to the hummingbird was beautiful, if not heartbreaking, as my thoughts branch out in multiple directions after reading this. Is there a fear that this love will become bored, restless? Was there a sense of persuasion, those words pushing your love forward, forcing it even until it had the appearance of stability and structure?
I have no more words left. Thank you for sharing this.