c'est la vie

Longing for his gaze to meet her’s again,

the crowded room parts like the Red Sea

and butterflies inhabit his stomach.

Her smile is brighter than a daisy’s,

no matter the weather.

The lips he once brushed,

now, in the bosom of another.

And those amber eyes that were a window into her compassionate soul

now, stare fondly at another.

His hands outlining her curvaceous body

fall at the memory of her moan.

Remembering the basket of flowers he was handed,

the daisy made him smile first.

Her petals withered from his indifference,

and now, are watered for by another.