Through the softest of lenses I stare hard and long
A beat keeping time in my lonely mind
As I consider the affection, the draw.
Character is king, but does not rule with an iron fist
And I am left, then, to grasp all that is, that can be
That can be undone or forever etched in my growing stone of a heart.
Malice is not in the cards, yet hangs over my head
As intentions, questioned and debated, consumed my soul
Portions far greater than I can stomach move me to move
While paralysis wraps me in a warm blanket of irony
I flinch at the tears tickling my cheek and reddening my eyes
Now cleansed, seeing once again as if for the first time
Again.
— Kevin Villegas
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