cotton and gauze

Did I come too close
in your time of need?
Does it put you off, now
knowing me? 
Did you show too much, 
and in memory cringe? 
Do I bring back bad times, now?
When confessions have turned to sins, 
sometimes we lose faith.
Or sometimes it's just
an embarrassment. 

Sometimes we must travel apart for days,
for weeks, for years 'til we find ourselves
and wince. 

Wherever the other is then 
will be hard to tell. 
We may want to reach out and see.

We'll want
to make mends to the warp and weft 
of such symphony, once just playing itself,
and find out how much is there, and left.
And whether it could again comfortably be.   
 
Well from my side
at least, the whole thing is.
I never could change my heart
once turned to best. 

Anyway, so you know.
I don't believe the above at all.
There is too much behind 
and beneath and ahead 
of depth sounded, heights scaled, 
and cushion to break 
any kind of fall.

Of light and direction
by which we've led
and followed in places,
by swapping leads
without changing at all,
except growing up. 

In thought put to words
so artfully sharp it bleeds
and breathes, and it lives
without need. Gratuitously, 
as it always does.

However apart we may walk,
pretty sure it will be for some 
pretty, sufficient cause - 
since any would do,
far as I can see through
this world of gauze.