A book inside your eye,
reading pages of your history;
been working on your body,
And living unemployed;
acting like a grown woman,
kissing pretty like an
Innocent girl.

I should take a picture,
just to capture your heart,
cropping out all the issues,
put all emotions on record;
Skins made of golden brown,
so I can taste it's worth,
and my car seat still remembers,
you sitting there, with
all your skinny curves;

Kissing, like I missed you,
grabbing on, like I own you;
But you were never my girl.

Thinking by luck,
I could get a ****, to remember,
a feeling right before,
you go on to hit a long road,
to the places I'll never visit;
Less when I'm going shopping,
a couple Christmas gifts,
long distant kisses, and
all of those future wishes.

Betting we'd miss,
our own wedding day,
skipping the after party,
for another after party. Leave our
guests dancing, grab a piece of cake
just for the extra cream;
So I can eat it,
with you in between;
And call it our perfect wedding.

African child,
we were in love for a while,
living in the moments;
the few tears, and many smiles;
We said our last goodbyes
over a long phone call,
and it's only now,
they ask about you and I.

I'm praying you find better,
and find that perfect guy,
waiting for you, like I couldn't;
And I'll smile for you,
even if it hurts;
Clap for you,
even if it hurts;
And congratulate you both,
even if I can't find the words.

I'll be so proud of you both.
As we all gain something,
when we let go.
African child,
you made me grow before,
during, and the after of
when you were my girl.

                            A thousand thanks.