My eyes graze the morning news
Of your latest peradventures.
While I drink my orange juice,
My heart gropes in the dark,
"Where is he?"

The mail runs and my fingers tear
The envelope to pieces.
I frisk the pages for your words,
The ones I'm starving for.

I eat them, washing them down with coffee,
And autonomically my parasympathetic nervous system
Takes the rich supplemental bits,
Pools them in my breasts
And genitals,

And my heart is reaching blindly.
It can't see that you're not here.
"He's near. He's near!" it cries.
"Where is he?"

-jenn