I glaze a look at the street, from

our apartment window.



You are coming slowly, teetering

one leg in front other, with back slightly hunched forward,

burdened with sleepless nights and yesterday’s undones.

Vibrant spirit once you had is lost, tossed among crowded

train wagons, useless meetings and broken deadlines.



One vein in the left corner of your forehead, swells, pulses in the rhythm

of your dark, fuddled thoughts as unremitting, sprouting baldness

reflects evening lights.



Still, I smile,

for you are here, with me in all this madness

we call life, half diced with wants and haunts that braid

every tomorrow we greet together.



I would like to put you in a different frame, picture of

nor “Yeses” nor “Nos”,

just us, being us, each moment celebrating

without lamenting for what “ifs” or “shoulds” and “coulds”.



Still, I smile,

as  I watch you battle your restless leg syndrome,

wrestling to sooth demanding expectations,

lifted bars for higher remunerations, in constant marathon

of best comparison,

for you care, you dare.



I take your hand with eyes of approval,

life’s ****** and gigolette,

ready to play each day’s illusive roulette.