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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