She:
Of hands whose touch are of
guised affection
Of gaze which holds
of sealed secrets
spilling out
Her laughter is an etched memory
But who will ever find the despair behind the pretense?
He:
Of hands bereft of love
forever probing for real yearning
Of gaze directed
towards another whom he'll never learn to reciprocate;
an acquired instinct
in an undying cycle of rebounds
His presence will always
haunt her; she that he'll never ever learn to reciprocate
He, a he and she, a she
He in a corner and she in the middle
They just don't learn where to find their place
