what true love is

your melancholy
moods are tedious
at times, she
muses. she likes
to muse and i
like it too.
i like the way
she puts her
hand beneath her
chin and shifts
her soft brown eyes
from side to side,
between thoughts.
your writing is
so so sad at times,
she says,
are you okay? do
you still love
her, that summer
girl? and i
laugh and smile,
my fingers on
the keyboard. i'm
done, i'm fine.
truly, i really
am okay. for love to
be true, it has
to be both ways.
this is the last
poem you will ever
see about her.
and she laughs.