For The Boy

who only knows love
as fleeting as
the signal lights,

like some
brisk evening,
once enjoyed
and once
forgotten.

the boy was young,
and besotted

with anyone whose
pretty eyes made
fools of his promises;

there was the
girl who blew him kisses,
drew a heart on
the frosted glass...

he wrote her a poem,
laden with wishes,
and it hung upon his
sleeve like an Autumn
leaf:

for the boy whose heart
lies dormant on the tracks
never looked back,
(and nor did she)

for the boy that falls
for strangers still,
speaks in tongues,
and writes in braille,

he thinks only so
many will understand.