The Heart. It Usually Breaks.

Having a heart is a strange affliction
Sometimes feverish like a mad dream, insidious, parenthetic
sometimes torpor. Worse than a bad day.
It will pass on, I hope.
But it doesn't. It wouldn't.

I cannot bear it, when you look at me
like that. Your eyes looking like broken promises,
When sunlight fades through your careless hair. And
Your smile is still awake, so full of life in the dead hour

I will someday look at you,maybe with
not half as intense a stare. But I promise you this
The ache will not be measured by its intensity
Someday, you will come back, living next door
as inaccessible as the best friend's wife

And every morning, we will meet.
Our eyes locking over trash cans as we throw out
the refuse of yesterday. We might as well wonder
"What of you?"