What I Can Not Touch

From the shadow of all the other's I watch those that hang on to your beauty in hopes. Mid stream is the river in my youth I have then dove beneath. None of the other girl's soon to be women have worked as hard as you have worked you look proud. The frantic pace that you set can not be matched. Next to me stands a girl that has whore lip. She asks me if I want a date and I say look at that. Thrusting one frozen hand into I shriveled up. How fast the luster has faded on that. I move away down the street to see that the motorcade left me behind again. The wind it blows my hat from my head. Through a broken board in the well worn fence I see. Her grainy face is bent over the old man in his coat.