coffee with no kick throws my morning in a horrid disarray.
and then the routine and doing the things over and over, and
the same thoughts again and again, the walk home,
sneakers on gravel, the moon, the quiet night, too quiet
the late night phonecalls and laughing but really not,
and craving for something out of the blue, and midnight smses just being nice,
and the plans made, deciding what seems impossible, and a month reaches
but, surely the sadness will creep in, and until then, nothing is to be said
or done or decided or made or built or promised, for that matter.
and invitations to be somewhere, is it presumptuous to just say no.
the taming of a battered heart,
the worst dreamer there ever was.