Don’t make it too obvious.
In fact, don’t make it obvious at all.
Just pretend I have a Ph.D. in
vagueness. Open with some
mixed signals interwoven with silence
and then stick to the script while
bending over backwards to make
me read between the lines.
I should be trained in the art of you
understand how to color the colorless,
how to dance through the rain as if
tears are somehow watery sunshine.

So:

Please don’t bang on your chest,
blow the trumpet, sound the alarm,
pull out your hair, or stomp your feet,
because that’s just simply too obvious,
and I want to magnetize to your heart,
want to learn the positives to your negatives
so that I know that when you say you’re fine,
you really mean that your entire world
is on fire—close to blowing up or burning down.
I guess if our love is what I think it is,
I should be able to understand you
even when you speak without words.