Regret is not a river

I never thought regret was a river,
I’ve not painted the town red,
I don’t think owls are clever,
Or eat my breakfast in bed.

If moonlight is for lovers
The Werewolves must get mad,
Sunsets belong on postcards,
Willows weep but can't be sad.

Words are held hostage,
In worn and tattered lines
A hopeless broken adage,
A phrase that never shines.

You never spoke to me like that,
So I won’t say I’m feeling blue
With language stripped of all that fat
I weep and write for you.