you used to be.
Innocent and young,
I shared a kiss with you.
Only you would hear about
my world of twelve year old secrets.
One of your shoulders was always free,
a resting place for my waterfall eyes.
A man raised by hate and not taught to love.
Someone who does not remember us
ever being just twelve years old,
or having his first real kiss.
It seems my waterfalls
don’t have a shoulder
to reside on,