Ill never love another lover the way I loved her...

 His eyes
so brown
and beautiful
that should be enough,
but for a broken
down poet like me?
It will never be
good enough,
just enough,
a little too much.
Lingering on his
body with every touch.
Why wont
his skin
make me feel again?!
Memories of
wandering between the
cello shape
of her body,
more perfect
than in the magazines.
The taste
of her inner thighs
held so many lies,
waiting for the truth
to arrive,
waiting for
her emotions
to arise,
hoping to find
some love in
her eyes..
carelessly
ripping
of the mask to
her disguise
never knew
seeking the real her
would be my demise...