I hate how now I know

Why it's always us,


Who needs the touch,

Who craves the love.


I hate how men always

Say, they don't get it.


The need to hold on

And ride through the waves.


Not the sensual pull

Of the night before, but of

The waves the morning after.


The night can last

Forever, or never come

Back again.


But the morning later,

It's all painfully clear.


I let him in and let

Him go.