Are these the eyes that looked at me?
Are these the hands that longed to be
entwined with mine in better times,
when skies were blue and grass was green
and that was all we knew?
Are these the lips that gently brushed
against my own, and sent that rush
through every cell that made myself
and every cell of yours that made
the man I knew?
Are you the man?
The eyes are cold. The hands now hold
a briefcase and a bankcard. The lips are hard
and cracked, the heart is black, and the man -
the man is gone,
and that is all I know.