Matters of the heart

O'dark thirty,
he sits, slouched, rocking
draws another breath of death,
watches as smoke rises
confused, convoluted, like the emotions
rising from within

he gazes out from the porch
vision veiled through a teardrop mist

silence
stillness

too many days have dawned
bitter sweet like coffee,consumed
with a longing for company,
and only remembrances
of welcoming warmth,
soft flesh pressed into his body,
arms enfolding him,
holding promise and purpose

instead he is embraced by emptiness
the joints stiffen, but from age
not arousal,
now only an elusive spirit, devoid
of substance,
hollow and cold

he has a friend he wishes was more,
but that future seems lost to futility,
frustration for him, she loves another

he finds himself once again
the center of a paradox,
cruel joke, knowing he holds within
the sweetness sought by so many
the right heart in the wrong body
a soft chocolate center covered with carbuncles
where even the possibility of taste
cannot overcome appearance

he aches to be savored, swirled by a tongue
lost to pleasure, drip slowly down
become absorbed into another
appreciated for his unique offerings
admired for the complex qualities
time has blended and bound together

but his label has been lost
the gray dusting indicates only age
not quality, he has become pigeonholed
placed in an obscure corner
wondering if the next day
he will be discarded or discovered
uncorked or undone

in his heart, he hopes
when the end comes
it will be like this

calm
peaceful

with the sweet scent of magnolia blossoms
like those just beyond his reach
and the promise of early morning birdsong
welcoming him to a new beginning

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