In the end I only have a few excerpts—
beer soaked wisdom,
harsh, morning-light realities:

I don't love effortlessly.
I don't reach for anything out of my grasp.
My hands are always searching
trying to touch soil beneath sidewalks.
Aspirations of affection like dandelions—
vibrancy in a concrete wasteland.
My knuckles will bleed,
my palms will bear callouses of futility.

You were the first effortless thing.
If I had a moment I could relive,
I couldn't.
I strive to recall a moment untainted.

Fall victim to my words.
Feel concrete turn to sand;
lay in the remains with me.