Your shadow
follows
behind you like
a prisoner
of your
past.

your eyes
have become
roses that
are slowly
dying..

and all
of my words
cannot help
her in
these nights,

where she
hides behind
these empty
walls.

at first light
of marriage
she was
ready to
set the
world on
fire.

put now
her fortunes
are just
empty pockets
of fate
buried deep in
her old
favorite jeans.

too young
too stupid,

in love
or whatever
you call
it at eighteen
years of age.

and I
send her
kisses and
quiet whispers,

that at twenty-eight
she might
grow to
understand.

that at
thirty eight
my dreams
might cover
her heart
like a
blanket.

and then she
will realize
that "yes,

I loved her
too."