A Rather W.B. Yeatsesque Morning

It's 6:00 AM
and there's a peculiar smell
of goodbyes and farewells and please don'ts and
oh honey we'll meet agains in the air. There
is a plenty fish in the sea,
but you see, there ain't many
like that one. Like raindrops from
yesternight
broken promises vanish into ground, and
I realize -- I am (all) over her (again).

I am the sun-kissed child of the
humble autumn morning, let alone
to grow up in his own solitude, not lonely, but alone,

until growing up reveals as
the merest recognition of the social isolation
and the illusion that I was past it.

I take a deep breath
and especially the it'll be all overs in the air

love is all
ravenous
that devours the whole
of body and soul
          cope with my hour
          if you claim me
          i can take your
          night we into pour

scared i hid
your eyes my awe
far from the look's lid
love a mere bid
          can you do me
          can you make me 
          and beyond all that
          can you have me be

I am the old bishop,
knuckling under the divinity
of the cumbersome morn

and the sudden reality check turns the corner
as the old car does:
"That's certainly the case."