I live in my head

(or a lament on the price of cold coffee)

(or, lauding the virtue of sour cream)

I live in my head
With monuments to pristine clarity
Where crystalline palaces gleam
In a city on the edge of eternity,
Where the ideal is close enough
To solve the problems of reality.

She lives in her heart
With obstacles of immense enormity
Where burdens drag her at a weary pace
Through the ruins of what never was,
While myriad complications dash her hopes
On the troubles she discovers and explores.

In many lifetimes my blanched fingertips
Pressed the filmy bubble of difference between us,
In disbelief that the hair's breadth of years
Must snatch that unique pear from her short life
So that we can never be.