Seventeen minutes
until my favorite show
comes onto my television set:
That should be just enough time
for a nervous breakdown.

They refer to me as the hermit
as I prefer staying nestled in my den
rather than exploring unknown empires.

Oh, the envy I bestow for her city...
It should be I holding her head at night
while she dreams up something pretty.
I still remember the lights
waving through my rearview mirror
after I dropped her off at home.

Exchanging silver quarter dollars
for caffeinated water.
Too terribly tired
to attempt to inspire
anyone.

Two brawly bald eagles
& a dozen dark crows
peck the fleshy, red meat
off a devastated deer
on the side of the road.
A bird's gotta eat.

Just the sensation of her fingertips
brushing up against my own
is enough to make this nomad
feel very (very) at home.
Oh, the taste of her succulent lips..
I'm deprived- my mind's gone mad.
Oh, the sound of her moan
into the depths of my ear.
Oh, what I would do to be near
her every single night- of my life.
How does she possess such beauty;
inside and out?
The nights without her
cause my mind to stir.
Hoping her heavenly heart
dances, delightfully, through my dream.

Basically- blackbirds' beaks peck,
periodically, away at my mind.
An empty space above my neck:
A brain deeply devoured
that- yet- bears no pain.
Into my dungeon I cower:
a desperate attempt to avoid
attacks on my mind any furthermore.
Panic attacks have my chest sore.