this working full-time is making me feel odd...
i no longer have the luxury to bring him lunch
snuggling against him: and hearing him rant
it is a compulsion: a serious addiction that
through work, his, not mine, is being tamed
i have even returned to my poems: a thing
that has been in the recesses of my mind
each poem dissipating to the wind as i
watched myself engage in the most humorous
debacles i have had in a long time: he makes
me smile, he makes my tummy turn, my legs
quake, my heart race, and my mind spin: odd
to be alone again
