Once again,

in my
hands just
out
of grasp,

my heart

tangled in
the dry
weeds of
deceit just
below my
feet.

I stumble
bleeding
from  this
experience
of loving
you.

but you
will never
tend my
wounds

to heal.

or give false
witness to
my scars

to rectify.

should of
worn blinders
to shield
me,

from false
hopes,

or falling
into the pit
of being
alone
again,

without
promise
insight.

this cantaloupe
moon sighs
over me.

and once
again
I still think
of you

and what
was lost

that should
of been

found.