I saw your hands outstretched,
your palms open and warm:
In them you offered hope,
hope that your love will be lasting.
I heard you say,
'do not my advances refuse,
for with intentions fair,
I approach with a lovefilled heart'
Your mouth of words tired:
Those words that should have been calm,
but my troubles were even severer
for the poor bliss of your words to settle
My insecurities raged onwards:
your palm I refused, and my way I went.