exactly nothing

You owe me exactly nothing

and someday I mean to collect.

It isn't a question of timing

only a matter of abject neglect.

I'm impoverished of your affection,

a situation requiring impossible correction,

while I'm privately eyeing the prize 

I'm denying I treasure.

You're my guilty pleasure.

I owe you exactly nothing

and somehow I'm preparing to pay.

It isn't a question of why
just a matter of finding a way.

You're immune to my useless distraction

out of tune with my limited power of attraction

while you're silently crying. Your 

eyes should be good for
more than perennial waterfalls. 

I have no opinions but those 

that I keep under wraps.

Your doubts and their minions

might catch me up quick in
exquisitely beautiful traps.

But life is too short to be hiding

with longings unspoken.

And a heart's not in play if it's 

always afraid to be broken.