Her beautiful blues that used to roll back in laughter
Are now fixed upon the street
They rise with moisture and pain
Skin in between the cotton sheets
No longer holds any desire for me
only memories
What she needed, I can no longer give
I stand before her now
Wrinkled and lonely
The vacancy sign above, flickers as if to signal
In need of not this woman
But only a body to fill my time
My shackled hands must release her
Like a butterfly
But it is too late
She is now a white moth
Headed not to the blue sky, but only to a flame.
