Ad Break, Ad Nauseum Poem by Steve Woodward

I often dream of making love. To a love
and not as it were “Just another mistake.”

Oh, Guilt.

I imagine white sheets of skin -
Forms like glowing rivers backlit by the morning sun.

Oft, the reality is socks in the muggy dark.
Idiot box screeches in the background.

There is no rhythmic tide mere ebb and flow
No passion, no breath, no light.

Clumsy fumbling and apologies muffled
Clavically, comically, quick! Before the program comes back on.

This is how I love thee
Yet in my mind, a million ways.