His lips are tired and can cry

      Apologies no more.  His eyes

      Were full once, volumes to be read,

But if you call, reminding him you’ve bled,

      Not now, today, or recently,

      But long ago, if only once,

He’ll say it all again,

With all that’s left, his skin,

And learn to cry a new apology,

When too, that is a sin

      Regardless of his weariness,

      And afterall, the fault is his,

      He fears to even court with sleep

May violate you, yet, he still must greet

      His ignorance again. Again,

      He questions what makes him a man,

            It’s not his charm or wit

            Or strength, but how he fits

A smile in your lips and lives within

            Apology for it.