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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