Tears and Tina Turner

For the lost love.

If I were a poet
I would write something
About your tears.
Or about mine.

It's difficult to tell
which is which of the tears
that slide across your face.
One hangs across the bridge of your nose.
One second it pauses,then falls
And soaks into the pillow.
One second is enough
To make you look foolish.

In my mind
You become foolish
And I am sad about that.
I send you a silent apology.
But the damage is done.