Photo by Eluela31.

Left Wanting For Wanting Nothing

Step into my office.
A mound of feather-stuffed pillows
Hoists my heavy head;
Legs tunnel straight ahead
Into soft blankets.
I’m crucified
In comfort.

The absence of human connection
Is a presence
That doesn’t shut up.
When days empty
It crescendoes.
I’m in solitary,
Self-imposed.

I read dream books on overnight loan.
But in waking
I tear away like a page,
While the volumes bedside
Are untouched and undesired.
I’m left wanting —
For wanting nothing.