It’s the usual routine.
The morning avoiding, waiting
for her to become human again.
She is not a morning person.
We dance around ourselves, hide
in rooms where the other is not, move
to the hidden spaces like soldiers,
avoiding sniping. I get a shot at
for what I have not done yet, the
boring chores that, more and more,
interest me less and less.
There is more to life.
After a while, we find our places,
separate spaces where we can be
alone together, out of range
of each other, while the dead morning
falls. I wait until she recalls
what our nearly normal is. However
did it come to this?
Life can be so good.
I wonder why we always
manage to make it