A man once told me
that hands say more than lips
and eyes cannot lie.

So I knew,
when your hand struck my face,
and your gaze hardened;
the apologies on your lips
meant nothing.

As I pondered thru rivers & streets
& breathed dusk of lemon scents, I
chose an ancient star to gaze & waste my
contemplations on;

In my writings, I bled my soul
to give life to the distant star;
I wasted all the words in the world.

Then she was gone. I sat alone with a poem.
I was never enough,
but I was alright.

I’d exchange all the things I’ve ever loved
for a chance in the sun.