Your eyes once made me flutter

As if, wind blew softly against a shutter.

Deep greens, tell stories of dimming tenacities.

The wind blows no more, set in realities.

Raptures inclined into ruptures;

Pleasures introduced tortures.

It could be seven months or seven years.

Always though, YOU, were predominately dear.

My sincerest apologies, things never worked out.

 I don’t fret any more; I can’t afford to live my life stout.

Occasionally when the blue moon rises, you cross my mind.

I wish you the best of the greatest, on your pursuit against life’s grind.