He sits lost inside the beauty
that lives in his mind.
Words pour from him
In a flourish.
Smoothly like honey
Streams from a honey dipper.
Next to him his forgotten
Cigarette has turned
.into an ash line.
Alongside a cup of
cold cloudy coffee.
He does not notice me
I am used to it.
Now and then
I will lift a lock of his
Beautiful hair from his eyes.
More like a mother
than his lover.
Perhaps an outward sign
Of my undying love for him.
A silent motion
that says
he still belongs to me.
I know he will not change.
But my heart loves
his beautiful heart.
And my mother always
Told me.
Hearts love forever.