I am a sand castle battered by the storms and all my sides are coming off, unglued.
My heart, chiseled out of shape by pain.
Time and its magical prowess,
Turned a cocksure prince to a mullish bigot.
I beheld you in that moment of shallow-mindedness and thought to me,
This is good stuff.
And I, an eager-beaver
Squirmed all night
In my skirt for your touch.
But morning came, sure as dawn and you rolled over, feigning your snores.
You feigned, you feigned, lying too stiffly to be asleep. I speak to you softly but your reply came off like one whose caught hair between his teeth.
Your carefully picked words neutered my resolve to love you.
And I knew,
Like I always do,
That I just gave me for a song.