I would lend my ear to you, if

only such courtesy could help.

For I am always there: to

hold your pleading palm, to

answer your 4 in the morning

phone cries, to listen to

every

single

sorrow.

And yet the runny need

pools deeper in your eyes.

It would be easier, to

firmly grasp and yank,  

ripping cartilage from bone,

granting your utmost wish, the

one thing I could never wholly become:

perfectly sympathetic receptacle,

garbage can savior, 

a torn-off leaf, a

fleshy curve of scrap for

clinging too close and

spewing mewlings,

watching them swirl

down

around

away from you.

And this I would sacrifice, my friend,

bloody-headed though I might be,

if only to smile in

silence and relief 

as I leave you.