It’s enough to kill a man, unrequited love.
It’s enough to keep his Winters frigid
and his Summers smoldering.
He’ll rarely feel comfort anymore.
At times a glimmer crosses his eye
and normality kisses his forehead,
then skitters off down the lane,
laughing as the man’s futile stride
stumbles over a storm drain
Collapsing to his knees,
cursing what’s left
Of his mediocre life.