Monday, April 26, 2010


You touch the light switch,
you touch it again.
One more time for good measure.
A treasure to be sure,
but battling a compulsion
and repulsion that threatens your
sanity. There is no vanity
in your foible. A matter of mind over
repetitive matter. Rest assured.
The light is out. The door is locked.
Your slippers rest at the edge of the bed,
facing south, and crossed the way your
feet hit the floor every morning.
And despite your malady, the reality
is that I wouldn't change a thing about you.
I'll just remain here to see you through.
We can do this, together.

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