Little good
it does you
To love an empty chair
To drink your morning coffee
With only the curling vapor
To wrap mysteries around your loneliness
Your hand that’s filled with the lively fingers
Of a rapturous ghost
Feels nothing but despair
What love can exist
In a precarious memory
Teetering on the precipice
Of yesterday and today
Little good it does you
To fall in love with air

The problem tends to be that
your heart doesn’t seem to care.