A Perfect Place To Cry

There’s a myriad Of poems to be written About the entrancing mystery Of a lovely girl’s lonely eyes, The delicate sweet sadness They softly reflect In a streetlight’s sympathetic glare Off a busted sidewalk’s Rainy teardropp puddle. I’m the harmless and meaningless poet Of golden bracelets and vanished dreams, The melancholy chronicler of feminine wrists He can no longer kiss. Certain milk-white shoulders Just within reach Look like home And the perfect place to cry Like the Patriarch Joseph When he fell into the arms of Benjamin and wept After revealing to Benjamin He was his long lost older brother.