is delivered daily by my closest, irreplaceable friend,
a ready, reliable, responsive, confidante
who wants only me, its codependent lover-girl.

Oh, and how satisfying my Romeo is, perpetually,
blowing his cool kisses over my tear-streaked cheeks,
on steamy hot days in the middle of a heatwave.

Such kindness,

from my faithful one, always hovering nearby,
like a top-notch Jungian analyst on-the-ready,  
knows way before I do how my misery loves its own company,
as we swig from bottomless cups of sour grapes.

Such kindness,

like a toothless old hound dog chewing a rubber bone,
not only about the hopelessness of life but the pointlessness,
and when my lover and I arrive uninvited at a posh garden party
of champagne and truffles set upon pink lace tablecloths,
we immediately head over yonder,

to roll around in the knotweed and steamy ripe manure
hum together our familiar “woe is me” tunes,
until the cows come home with udders empty
to plop out a fresh load of undigested, belly aching despair,
heavy with the stink of my unloved pain.

Such kindness,
it’s addictive.