Roommates>Lovers

I have found it is far easier
to live with a roommate
Than a lover

While I worry for her in
the general sense
(car wrecks, alien abductions,
etc.)
I do not begin
to wring my hands
at the dark sky when
she has not yet come home

I do not worry about
what she is drinking
(or with whom)
And she has yet to punch
a hole of passion
in the plaster just to the left
of my face

She has yet to lie
about her location
or her company

(Or rather, I have yet
to psychotically verify
her claims with a
"friendly drive-by")

She has no power to,
by the sum of her choices,
make my bed feel bigger

It is always half empty
And I am always reaching for no one
in fitful sleep

And she cannot help that
my "Lonely" is now
a chronic disease

The turn of the lock awakens
no wild expectations

She could not come home with flowers
and fix what I have done