Everybody says I love you

I used to say I love you. Plain
speech made sense back when I loved you
and more when I didn’t. Again
I said it. Again. As if new
sentiment could grow out from that
same old, tired phrase. As if, after
something we weren’t looking at
aged and died, I could see laughter

lines at your eyes to match my own.
Again. Again. I love you. Doubt
is not a word that thrives alone,
but in pairs. Speak some fact about

the sky, my eyes, some prickling purpled heather—
I love you. How these lies lie light as feather