by GW Michaels

Created on: August 03, 2009   Last Updated: May 05, 2012

We talk for hours at a time.
Words spoken, without saying-a-line.
Painted pictures of our life's design.
The more we talk, the more it felt, just fine.
A web-site, I do now, adore.
Has brought us together, once more.

We met for coffee, on a Saturday morn.
You showed up in a pink dress that was torn.
As you walked towards me, I knew it was you.
But you failed to mention, you had a seat built for two.

The black and pink poke-a-dot top that you wore.
Took my eyes off, the pink bell that you wore.
But I almost fell to the floor in disbelief,

As you smiled with your black and yellowing rotten teeth.
I left that day a changed man,
Ok, so what, I had to crawl on my hands.
The nausea I felt inside and the bald spot you tried to hide.
Sent a chill through my bones, I can't describe.

I know it's been thirty years sense we met.
The pictures you posted, I must confess, were very dark at best.
Becoming a bag-lady was never in your dreams.
As you sifted through the garbage, oh what a scene.
I had to leave you standing right there, one last look, should I dare?
I've never felt so numb in my life,
I handed you some cans and drove out a sight.

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