I'm not sure if the glass is half empty or half full. 

Coffee shops leave me homesick for 8 minute drives to your cul-de-sac, to your arms; you're always busy. 

Give me an unagitated evening,

where I could sleep-walk

under a light rose-petal sky,

and arrive at your door,

40 miles away,

just in time for dinner.

I am in love with a girl… who is afraid of breakfast,

who brews coffee in the morning like gasoline feeding a starving engine.

Her fingers dance around the machinery of her waist out of step with reality.

The initial absolute of "black"

fizzes out; reds and blues and shapes pulse

with every beat of your racing heart.

You can feel her hands, see the basic outline of them,

of her shoulders, her curved collarbone.

As you reach for her -