lonely man
You were standing there so lonely. Hands in your pockets while you leaned on the fence, your icy gaze somewhere not here and a cigarette dangling carelessly from your lips. It spoke volumes of your sadness, you should know, the way the nicotine crept into your lungs. The way the wisps of smoke rose lazily in the air, rolling about as if they were dancing the waltz you danced last night with the woman who was not your wife.
There is a reason our fathers tell us to hood our eyes: in that single unguarded instant, your soul glimmered, your lashes trembled to the beat of her young heart, and a million miles away, your weary wife cried out.
