setting steaming coffee, black,
and fresh-squeezed orange juice
at your place every morning
beside the Pana News,
two eggs frying
on the stove:
sunny side up
and lightly buttered toast--
not burned--
but golden brown,
like you
like it...
i cannot be your vision
of housewife harmony,
but i can hold you to my heart
each night:
living symbiotic lives,
straining nourishment from canned vegetables
and the cheesiest macaroni
you need me to be your inspiration,
but like a twice-steeped teabag,
i lack the strength
to be of use
to you...
just let me linger like a spreading stain
upon your virgin memory:
drink from me again
before you go