I see your face on TV, chocolate skin, with dark eyes filled with loss, anger, and loneliness, framed by shiny black hair that reminds me of doodling. I will never meet you, a fact that spawns regret and relief all at once. What would I say? I understand? I’m sorry? Legislated relationships don’t last. To each other we will likely remain a face on TV, blended with other faces, becoming a crowd, and lost to each other.
Categories: Poetry