Shameless (at least it's dark).

At ten after seven PM on an October Saturday
I listen to George Winston piano,
knowing that I am looking for
emotion
which wells up in my chest;
a bodily experience loaded with melancholy.
I regret,
long,
yearn,
mourn,
and I half-smile
(not outwardly).
I wish it was raining, windy, or snowing.
At least it's dark.

I could accuse myself of manipulation.
But justly?
I dare not (cannot) fight off feeling.
And, anyway,
Emotion is gift.

George Winston will be on all night.

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