I was alone

when I went searching

   for your face

in all the crowded bars

where love hides out

under an assumed name.

There were many other faces

decorated with whiskey smiles

   and anxious lips

ready to whisper

anything I wanted to hear

but never telling me

what I really

   needed to know.

Why do those faces

always look so desirable

   at night

and so terribly lonely

when the morning sun

invades my one-room world

and splashes across

   the tumbled bed?

I didn't know your name

   then

or even what you looked like.

But I recognized you

by the sadness

in your eyes.

   Or was it

the reflection

of my own

lonely stare?

(Excerpt from the “Sadness of Happy Times” by Lou Duro: www.louduro.com)