IN PURSUIT OF THE HEART NEXT DOOR

...trembling, what kind of shit is this?
schoolboy days long calenders away,
yet here i stand,
lost in the illusion of not being
enough, good
enough, handsome
enough, wealthy
enough, and the laughter of
twenty seven years assails my
mind, i shrink, a slug addicted to salt sprinkles
as a dusky goddess from a Howardian
landscape sits upon a throne of
bone and ivory and
sentences me to death by sorrow and
papercuts from lemon soaked sheets...
weeping, i see her smile,
a cresent moon in a summer sky,
and her eyes, the gray/green of
the mutant who is the evolution of man,
my fingertips tremble, remembering
the feel of her flesh beneath them,
and my mouth is parched in
anticipation of the next kiss
from her lips,
that may not be forthcoming.
i've learned to survive in the drought,
lived through the weed shortage of
the eighties,
the funk shortage of the early '90s,
only to falter on the shores of
the goddess shortage,
to wither upon this vine and
die from the failings of an
undernourished imagination...
perhaps we'll call this
apropos,
for all the hearts i have damaged,
for all the damage i've done to my
own heart,
a metaphorical heartbreak to finish off
this poor, delusional bastard
that is named ___________ is fitting punishment
indeed...