I Will Not Understand

The ocean sparkles
in the morning light.
We sip hot coffee;
you cough, turn your head.
Eyes say more than words.
Ties connecting us
dissipate in sunshine.
Waves which wash ashore,
this white-flecked water,
underscore your silence.
Last night, in humid darkness,
velvet-feeling black, we joined --
made pacts that daylight violates.
I will not understand your shame.
You will not see my heart-hurt face,
nor will you long remember
my already half-forgotten name.