58. Solitude (Myshkin, 2020) · couplets

I feel so alone, and there’s nothing to fix. I make love in my dreams, but to forests and creeks. Months ago I gave up, took my hands off the wheel, I’m just waiting for Spirit to tell me what’s real. It’s both pretty and ugly, this state that I’m in. I just shimmer with love. What a place to begin! But attachment still cries, “Heal my heart! Love me, do! Who’s my soul-saving mate? Is it her? Is it you?” While my heart and my loins are still smoldering hot, I’m actually peaceful, I love what I’ve got. My connection to God—how much sex is that worth? I’m single—but shame-free, which fuels my rebirth. I just love my own heart more and more every day. With divorce not a choice, infinite is our play. On my hand there’s a symbol, my self-choosing ring, I wake up and commit: my own queen, my own king. I have vision and passion and love for a wife. I’m alive and awake, if she enters my life. And if not, I say “Thank you” and take what I get And keep walking my path (with some gentle regret).