You seem so sad,
Sat there motionless
With your long limbs.
Looking out to sea.
There is an occasional flicker,
A twitch.
Gum in your mouth.
But all else is still.
What are you thinking?
Something tragic?
That melancholic stare,
Doesn't seem right.
I want to stand up,
Walk over, sit and say,
"Was it someone?
I've been there, it gets better."
Long, brown hair streaming
Across your face.
I hope the wind blows,
Blows all your sorrows away.
Those languishing long limbs
Are bruised.
More to bang,
I guess.
I'm anxious you will leave
Before it is done.
Sun setting.
You look at me,
I can't see your eyes - sunglasses.
Hiding tears?
Despondent inertia returns.
You might stay.
The departure is sudden.
"It's unfinished!", my mind screams.
No glimmer of happiness as you part.
I can save you! WAIT!
I give chase - a poetry stalker -
Writing as I run.
Those damn long limbs!
Now you are woebe-gone.
