I keep telling the Beloved that
    she's not here.

  I want Her so badly my chest hurts, and
  I comfort myslef by saying that I have
  heartache of the grandest kind, my
  precious pain of longing.

  That's when I trip over Her, as she
  lays sprawled in the street

  for the whole world to see

  with an open bottle
  and drunken smile.


  Whle I stammer with embarrassment,
  She hollers, "Help me up!  We've got another
  party to get to!"



--
written 19Oct2003, edited 23Oct2003
(c) 2003 nadeem (at) artisart.org