Tension perpetuates the lines on your face
a tired embrace
of old memories.

The redness that told me you were cold
tricked my fingers
into holding you tighter.

Your anger was never as harsh
as the movies make it out to be
there was love in that scowl.

A moment too late and I’m on the ground
wishing that love lasted longer
and hate wasn’t so quick to take over.

Oh, how I wish for that kiss
which shared your feelings
better than your fists.

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