the meaning of regret

so, there was this girl. she was hot. by the time i worked up the courage, she was gone. phooey.

i am an old man
crouched in the corner, whispering sweet things
to no one in particular, a lovely ghost perhaps.
i envy the birds. they have feathers to keep them
warm in the winter, and i have nothing
except the fading memory of your eyes and smile.
were i 50 years younger i would stop being a coward
and hire a private detective
named Jacobs or Graham
or something like that
and they would find you and i would go to you
and present you with something sincere
which i will think of on the spot like the genius
i wish i was and the hopeless romantic
i am doomed to always be.
but i dont have a time machine and im not rich
by any means so i guess im stuck
clinging to a watered down vision of your face
like an acrophobic 5 year old clings to a tree limb.
and im going to complain about all of this and
then i will die of old age in 3 days or 3 weeks or 3 months
or god forbid another 3 years which will be a lifetime.
and on my deathbed i will be angry because im alone
and miserable because im in pain and ashamed
because i never told you that you were beautiful.