Potion
His bitter love is a broken
Joy
The main ingredient in a potion
Quinine I thought
I was wrong
I am always wrong about
My Mickey
His parakeet pecks at his image
In the glass
His dog is chasing his tail
His shadow strides behind him
Unnoticed
He stirs it all with his eyes
Until it is mixed to an emptiness
It is a strange thing
This love
That we desperately hope for
This notion of absolute happiness
In a turning
I watch him add a single tear
To the mixture
Maybe it will help
The last one spat it on the floor