Five blocks from heaven,
Three from the corner store;
She drinks, reading Gershwin;
She screams, demanding more.
By bedposts we’ll speak of hell
And in mornings all will be well.
But last night, she picked 3:00 a.m. flowers –
Today, she’ll stare at them for hours.
In the shower, that song will be played
and satisfaction will be delayed.
Will it ever be any different?
Was all our time really well spent?
Asleep with a pen and a page,
I’m starting to get past my age.
The words we once willingly whispered
Haunt my memories in slight shivers.