You can see her in the mirror,
But you might as well go home.
You’re even lonelier than you were before,
Your thought becomes a palindrome.
You’ve lost her, and a little of
Your class act, you feel the grit
Of your Turkish coffee, and you may as well see
Your life on TV in a late night skit.
You win a million dollars, and you lose it
Forever. You decide: you’ll go back to her,
“I’ll open your door, I’ll arrange your shoes.”
You notice her perfume is myrrh.
Yaacov David Shulman