Forever it seems

my shoulder has hurt from all this weight
standards of living too high
and I can't keep up with all you kissing couples
flying by on their madrigal chariots
spaniards caressing these foreign girls' locks,
biting each others' ear
(secretly so they think)
because to them the world is fuzzy background.

For me,
the sight of you eminent
all remains a long dark tunnel
with a light at the end
with perhaps stigmata Jesus shining through
all Caucasian and golden and passive
saying, "Blessings, child"
instead of turning the changers' tables on me for how much I swore last week,
for all my dank romantic daydreams.

Never fear,
for I come quickly.
I come home.