So much so
little too late 
the cup dry
and dirty sits
waiting for more 
none ever comes 
the bottom seen
the heavy bits 
are what remains 
after the drink
enjoyed is over 

Yes what’s that 
I whisper near
in this bed
what made you 
turn like that 
and move closer 
wiping hair from 
eyes that now 
only dance upon 
your dreams I’m
here I remind
with a kiss 
but your lips
don’t respond as
you are thinking 
of someone else 

I’m tucked 
up tight
corner unit 
third floor 
my birdhouse 
a garret 
I sometimes 
romantically imagine 
secreted above 
the Seine 
or Rhine
or Thames
a place 
of age 
where age 
and wisdom 
percolates and 
whistles and 
where I
call home 

I am not 
nor will I 
ever minimize your 
heartbreak from the 
depths of my 
heart I wish 
that it would 
never have happened 
to you but 
I am not 
the Creator but 
only a shoulder 
upon which to 
rest during this 
your journey of
love and life 

It is now 
at this night 
when the lights 
of false day
reflect in windows 
and when you 
upon looking through 
same reflect too
giving me two 
of very you