My heart is filled with longing and fear,
according to the stethoscopes of all my psychics,
it’s an instant, irreversible diagnosis,
so they say,
because love is a life long sickness.
My best girl brings trouble to my door,
to my dormant desires and my shining soul,
I weep blood as I watch her fix a coffee in the kitchen,
waiting in my widow’s arms to wake up,
but the waking hours never come.
Soothed by the constant journey to nowhere,
a dream world where nothing is rearranged,
no change from the bliss I have been blessed with,
I watch her make coffee,
intoxicated by the swirl of her slender fingers and the scuffed, once shining spoon,
and my psychics sigh in relief.