My beloved is the best . . . but he is asleep as I bemoan my sorry lot.

He holds me close . . . until I react to some scent on his manly body.

It should have a wonderful effect . . . but it does not anymore, sadly.

Such are the ravages of severe illness . . . the kind that makes everything hay-wired.

If I could explain it to you . . . then it would be from understanding myself,

And I cannot dear friend . . . so woe are my words, this night, once again.

But not forever, all night, or after a little while . . .

For He speaks into my heart song . . .

And makes all kinda nice.

My Jesus understands for he hung on a wooden cross . . .

With nails in his hands and feet, a spear thrust in his side.

I could never endure imagine that kind of pain, even if my head banged all night . . .

Let’s just say my Lord knows suffering so His tears comfort me alright.

Even if this Doc or that hath not have the medication right for me . . .

My beloved says healing will still come and my own fasting indicates so.

I shall do what I gotta do to manage this chaos . . . even if I never leave the table by the window at the café of the health food store

Because I can’t think straight and seizures are pushing up from within:  unsafe to make my way home until I stabilize.

“Cmon my Jesus, drive me home

It’s dark already and you are all that I have tonight.”

And so He did when He was all I had.

Goodnight again.

JJ