I am here, waiting patiently for her, though long time no see like in ever, like in never, my absentia, dementia, both critiques of self-censure, here, then, my cadenza, dedicated solely soulfully for you:
as the sabbath sun rises over the East River, saying, mocking, laughing upon me, βstill here, though long time no see,β for though I cannot never look upon her as well, my sun, my sun, yet she, too is everywhere-inside of me, woman-sun, both warmly illuminating my muddled mind