After Dinner

My mother always told me, Don't talk to strangers. But what if I can't talk to anyone? What if I don't even know how I feel? And besides, The words only get in the way . . . . Washing the tears With a hole in his hand He touches my face, Maybe he understands. Can't seem to read What's buried there, A needle through The word that is love. What is love anyway? A four letter word. Love is just another word to say. Platitudinous expression, cliché . . . . If it's unfamiliar I am content But I'll take what I get, It's not over yet. I've walked on the shore Into the grave Covering the sand From the smell of my shame.