It’s March now
and that would give them exactly 74 days together
and she must admit the counter top 
full of pink cut off notices is not attractive
nor or his elastic free underwear that droop
or his left eye that wanders after one too many beers
this can’t be the same guy from New Year’s Eve?
What happened to that splendor of a man?

Who is she?  he asks
with the snatched back hairline from too tight weave stitching
or her too little jeans that have turned her sexy New Year’s Eve walk into a wobble
or the way she keeps a nasty kitchen

So as you can see it just ain’t working out cause reality has settled
and fantasy time is when sleeping or during sex 
when they imagine the other to be another
they have uncovered one another and silenced 
the fictional narrative and now sit soul to soul
naked beyond clothes
they’ve realized each others survival techniques
and hate they met someone with just as much low self esteem

they wanted a savior
someone to swing low and take their shoes off so they could stop running
somebody that could explain to God why they’ve done what they’ve done 
and been where they they’ve been
somebody to take their mother dancing cause they can’t get the steps right
they just keep walking over her
but that’s not who came
and she frowns that his bad breath smells of two week old bowels
and he menaces at her crusted, bristled down toothbrush

both trying to buy chocolate with wooden pennies
catch fireflies with their eyes closed
mirror reflecting what he deserves 
and the amount of truth she has reserved in her heart to receive

for right now this is as good as it’s gonna get
and it could be great if they had enough love of self 
to accept each other for being human.