That was just to say

               What hurt most? This is just to say, I think,


        you wouldn’t wake me. I have eaten from my dream
    when we could have shared the plums together; could have talked
    and wrestled the thoughts that were in between us
              and put them in the icebox to chill.

 Or that ‘just’ that stunned, and which, so casually,
                  insinuated. You were probably cruel.
               You know I was saving nothing,
                         waiting for breakfast, for break-up.

           Or maybe the lie: ‘Forgive me.’ No real apology.
     Smearing me with malice, they were delicious, your adjectives.
          Forgiveness, though so sweet, is a dish
             best served late, and so cold. And so, so cold.