A tune reverberates in his head:

I love you so much it hurts . . .

She tosses him a crumb,

he smiles like a Forever stamp.

She finds him a dullard, a slug.

He impales and blinds himself

on her sunlight.

She’s alive as a carpet

of caterpillars.

He hungers for her bones,

and thirsts for a gulp

of her perishable attention.

She’s genetically blessed,

impossible, a Jacaranda rose

who sometimes speaks with

the wisdom of the Torah.

He struggles to remain buoyant

in her undertow.

There is nothing else he can do,

except hope

she misses him when he’s gone.