Here’s the thing:
I am in then party habitat
listening to the band
from a polite distance
playing the grooviest tunes
of my favorite generation.
I am in my place of power
where everyone knows my name
shakes my hand
celebrates me with shouts.
I am mellow
enjoying a Sour Grape
on the stomach of the most platinum of blondes
wearing the skittish of shirts
until she took it off.

But here’s the thing;
Something is missing
and I can deny what is diminished
this obvious emptiness.
I can name it
but I don’t want to.

You could.
You could identify
in a second
just what I needed
if
in your presence
I still found myself wanting.
You could always center me.

And here’s the thing:
As I look up
into a cloudless sky
as I rest upon this chick who is not you
I see no celestial presence.
The skies are empty.
You were always my North Star
and now
I have nothing to guide me.