I’ve kissed a thousand lips,
Rough as rocks, delicate as dew;
I’ve been drunk on a thousand sips,
Though none really tasted like you.
I’ve opened my mouth to each;
I’ve felt the passion in throes;
But something’s always out of reach –
Something only a heart knows.
I’ve taken essence, moist and dry;
But nothing remained for me to keep;
And, no matter how hard I try,
Though I keep sowing, I cannot reap.
I heard an old song
Sing its pain;
It reminded me
Of us again.
Old songs do that:
Sifting their tune,
Cradled on lost stars
And a forgotten moon.
The words aren’t the same:
They are rusty hooks
And dried old flowers
In dusty books.
It always befalls
That the singer is me;
And what we were
Becomes his melody.
It’s three minutes
Of our past;
Yet, it’s these three
That will last.
You said you wouldn’t leave;
You promised me lies;
You said many things
Like “love never dies”;
You spoke; and I believed;
I was a fool; a fool am I;
I lived to own truth
And prove love can never die.
Hearts Still Care 
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