Every time is try to figure out
relating, love and attraction
it eats another lump of my heart
and churns my stomach.

Not only but also,
 nowadays A.l. and it's associate algorithm,
ride roughshod horses 
of the apocalypse
 through my self esteem;
as they do,
selling me love language learning models, dating apps
 and associated relational wisdom.
Not to mention ‘perfect’, but virtual girlfriends
and all too handy lovers
that offer the late evening of my soul
robot conversation, listening, validation
and long hugs.

In fact what does yet another,
all too brief episode offer me?
Except the opportunity perhaps,
to write little notes of self awareness, for  self consumption only
and there's bittersweet poetry,
 yet again, apparently.

Now where did I put those anti-sweet memory pills?
Frustrated, in even that mini-quest
I reach for a very battered old prayerbook, 
it's good for love-churn
and the bites of the cherished.
Strange that, but true, love. 

Oh, and while I am at it
what celestial joker ordered,
all of a sudden it seems,
long and just perfect sunsets,
for me to share
 and linger warmly in,
on, joy, Instagram?