A dumb moonlight hike/
across high desert slickrock
makes me glad for cairns.

OR

Lost hiking under/
moonlight on desert slickrock:/
I’m thankful for cairns.

It’s too late to change,/
but I’d have given up my/
weekend to help you.

How many pained words/
must I scream at the full moon/
before she answers?

How I enjoy
my weekends destroyed.
It’s simple, really.
First, just thrill me,

Then don’t write at all.
Don’t email, text or call.
Just let me contemplate
your silence. Make me wait.

That way, as I’m out in the sun,
trying my hardest to have fun
even though I’m without you,
I’ll be, still, thinking about you.

From sunrise to moonset it’ll make me lose focus
thinking about solo mio that once was us.

She who cares for and/
assists others freely, wants/
no helping from me.

You had dreams,
hopes, and plans,
and schemes,
for the weekend.

Communication?
All I saw was a schedule
that read of frustration.
Your time table was full.

So I made another arrangement,
knowing your first priority.
It wasn’t my first bent,
but it matched with yours, evidently.

And now you’re rejecting me. It’s unkind
to toss me aside when I can’t read your mind.

The fallout of me/
falling out is that I fell/
out of her favor.

For understanding,/
she thanked me (sarcastically)./
I just protect me.

It’s the silence, the/
not knowing, that hurts the worst;/
the “You don’t belong.”