poem #30

bookstore

i look forward to that day
when i bump into you
in a coffee shop or bookstore
and not absorb a drop
of that tiresome anxiety.
the ongoing lament;
another existential crisis.
when the words you say
sound like nails down
a schoolroom chalkboard
and not a chorus of angels singing.
the numerous meals i cooked
were not enough to make me
the centre of your universe.
instead i was a planet
in a vast solar system
that revolved around you.
even as my life shattered,
i finally felt i was coming up for air.

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