This Is Classified

An Apology at the End of a Relationship

So I am lonely and wrong,
my mouth forms the words
like whales breaking the surface
of water, pink inside grey caves.

I’m an expanse of ocean
away from tipping my sorry
into your warm ear, my tears,
rivulet nose to chin, drop off.

I need to be cold and wet
because this mistake scalded me,
my skin crisped away from my flesh,
everything was rendered down
to spears, blubber, whales.

Just as our feelings
are meant to become
secret from each other, my regret,
this is classified,
not for you to know.

Endings are aggressive things,
seagull shrieks and swoops,
this sorry tears me so, yet
it must emerge
though you won't hear it.