So, this isn't the poem I thought a return would be, but it is.

A Far Cry from Former Marches

You have me, though I'm not so sure

that you know what that means.

You want more, but it's not coming.

You tussle my hair and lean on me,

and that would be fine,
Except one thing...

Now don't take this wrong--

It's not that I'm not ready
And I can't say its me not you,
That just wouldn't ring true

It's all the absent butterflies.

It's the fireworks I don't see.
It's the body language you can't even read

Still, we spend time at your house
Watching tv, playing scrabble,
This is something that I need.

I know I've sent mixed messages
But I tried to make it clear
What we have's called "friendship", my dear.