Giving Up
Wind in the trees,
I will him to look at me like that first night,
The artist surveys his work.
A crow calls in the distance
I wonder if his kisses taste the same,
The artist tells me his plans for his current work in progress.
Cars rumble along the highway,
I want to say I wish you had chosen me,
The artist asks my opinion of the sculpture.
The air smells of rain,
I smile and want to ask what she has that I don't have
He goes to get another tool.
The sun is hidden by a cloud
My hands shake and I say goodbye,
The artist resumes his work.
|