Shock, Cooled Now, A Bland Jello Mold

Winter sun toasts
The back of my neck.
Wearing black, afternoon rays
Almost scald my back,
This mid January, waiting for the bus
After attending Pro Rodeo.

Besides feeling hunger
Roar inside me, I feel wonderful
Basking in the warmth of
Robust health taken to the hilt
This morning with a double workout—
A 5 mile run and my regular swim.

I think of you and
Wonder where you are
Traveling overseas on vacation—
Supposed to be a trip of a lifetime—
Crumbling in your palm due to
Creeping ailments and
Debilitating pain
Halting your plans of
Seeing exotic Malaysian sights
And also meeting willing women
To sleep with,
Dead in their tracks.

Instead, you find yourself
Spending days inside
Shuttered hotel rooms
Laying abed, seeing nothing,
Sleeping alone.

I feel for you because
I love your sweet soul and
Want you to be healthy,
Virile and strong.
I don’t want you to experience pain.

I also consider
The rest of the emotional tapestry’s
Stitching and fabric.

Mortality is universal.
Timed wear and tear ages everyone
Though unequally, at different rates
And in altered forms.

Seems that your travel dreams
May have to be roped in a bit
As medications, physical therapy,
MRIs, doctor appointments,
Steroid injections and
Whatever else becomes necessary
To address bone spurs, torn labrum,
Pinched nerves, unexplained
General achiness in hips and low back
That now crowd into
Your life’s space, in addition to
The insomnia and depression
Battles you already face.

I want to help and support you
Back to better health and well being.
Somehow, now though,
This desire stems from
A deep care for you,
Not passion.

I changed this past fall.
I became so much older.

My emotional tones, ranging from
Butterflied shock, disbelief,
Anger so pure in its
Rutted and entrenched nature
And then obsessive anxiety
About your whereabouts,

Have settled, cooled into
A sugar free jello mold
Wobbly to touch, still new, but
Formed nevertheless.

Maybe the Wellbutrin regime
I’ve begun is responsible for
Leveling my romantic feelings
But I don’t think so.
While still strongly tied to you,
A certain degree of blandness
Surrounds your aura now.
Undeniable.

Your unseasoned flavor
More likely stems from me
Getting to a place of
Having to let you go in my heart
Rather than being medicated

Of me coming to more peace
That this relationship is
Not going to pan out
The way I had once hoped

And that in certain ways,
I’m not interested in
Sorting through spoiled
Rotting leftovers because
The wish to romantically
Move on anyway at some point
Has begun to grow
Moss fuzz on moist rock.

Shock

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