Unrequited Pathological

I am jealous of the air

he breathes and displaces,

the water that washes over him,

lingering randomly in horizontal bodily fossae,

the mirror he peers into,

the comb that traces his hair pattern,

the aftershave that lingers on his face,

the clothes that variously enfold him,

the socks that envelope his awkward toes,

the leather shoes his feet give shape to.

I am jealous of the ground

that meets his outstretched foot,

the seat he yields his weight to,

the leather bag he grips purposefully,

the business he attends to,

the friends he embraces,

the colleagues who relate so casually,

not seeing the angel within,

not feeling the warm tide of his love

wash over their souls.

I yearn for

fights unfought,

love unmade,

children unborn,

depths of mutual knowing

unreached.

I wish to know him with all of my senses.

My world is beige.

My feelings unchanged.

Time does not heal.

I am jealous of the air

he breathes.

2011, Aideen Henry