The Lie

I look at your face.
Still, but so friendly;
you were my friend.

I thought you were.

They say the camera doesn't lie,
but you must have,
at some point.
When you were giving of yourself?
your love? your time?
Your money?
You were keeping track.
I couldn't see your tally
or your lies.

I couldn't see your face
when you said to me:
Your time was not enough
Your gifts were a joke
Your love is not here
in my apartment.
My hands trembled,
hands which had made clear
my love:
made you gifts
cooked you food
massaged your hands.
I couldn't see your face -
but it was still you.

And which is the lie?
Your words,
marching from bitter fingers
to my receding heart?
Or that still smiling face?

~September 27, 2009