you tell her
her eyes
are deep, reflective pools,
mesmerizing, you say

you compare her
to an angel,
and you call her the sun
which outshines all the other stars

you say
she is the sea
she is the sky
the stars, the moon,
and a million other things

you call her poetry, poetry

and she will love you for it
unbeknownst to her
that your words are not your own
but the words of every poet
who has ever loved

this bed feels so cold
with only
one body
sleeping,

this body feels so old
with only
one heart
beating,

this heart feels sick,
so ill
with emptiness
and regret

a thousand thoughts
falling like
shards of glass,

falling in a place
where time
does not pass,

how long
does it take a man
to die of loneliness?

to die of longing
to be truly loved
even just once

even if it be
just for a second
or two,

just to hold on
to something
precious
and true,

to hold on
to a heart
other than
my own,

to melt a heart
made of
winter
and stone.

how long
does it take a man
to die of loneliness?

a lifetime,
it seems.