Giving Up

Wind in the trees, I will him to look at me like that first night, The artist surveys his work. A crow calls in the distance I wonder if his kisses taste the same, The artist tells me his plans for his current work in progress. Cars rumble along the highway, I want to say I wish you had chosen me, The artist asks my opinion of the sculpture. The air smells of rain, I smile and want to ask what she has that I don't have He goes to get another tool. The sun is hidden by a cloud My hands shake and I say goodbye, The artist resumes his work.