You come
to me
dressed in
solitude
from
a place
that can't  
be seen,


or touched
or understood
in the
brief
time we
live and
laugh and
cry aloud.


stale coffee
stranded in
your morning
coffee cup.,


curtains leaking
morning light
across your
bed..


in your head
you awkwardly
dance through

hundreds of old
pointless conversations.


you and him
you and he.
before the
storm
after the
deluge,


bad songs
sung out
of tune.

so many

poor choices

of men.


but still your
beauty of
heart promises
another spring,


and to there
I will wait
and then
retire and
dream of

you.