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Ode to Sir Deli Man

Deli man, O Deli man, wherefore art thou, Deli man?
A pair of piercing grey eyes haunt me, no matter where I turn.
The tickle of memory involving your voice confounds me
As I attempt to remember the vibration of your essence.
You keep yourself so immaculately; put together to the same
Standards day in and day out, as if time stands still for you.
Those eyes stare at me, whether mine are open or closed.

[A completely unfettered smile gives existence more meaning, O Deli Man.]

I pick myself up out of my miserable little reality as the calendar turns,
Traveling despite internal agony in every fiber of my very being
Searching for grey eyes each time I saunter slowly along the pathway
Between an entrance to a brighter, happier world and daily sustenance.
Without your presence in that little deli, the trip is wasted. Pointless.
“I should have waited. I should have collected myself earlier…”
Just to catch one glimpse of a pair of penetrating grey eyes.

[Ordinary is what we say when we want to deny the godhood of another.]

The energy I doth perceive within your soul delights and contents my soul.
We all vibrate at a rather specific frequency and yours calls my name.
Or it would, if you knew my name, one would wish beyond all hope.
Attempts to reconstruct your visage in my head are met with sheer failure.
Black rounded spectacles here, black beard there. What nose?
It’s missing, a hole in memory. A bandanna and a hat, surely we remember that.
Yet, failure is met trying to assemble your visage within my mind’s eye.

[How is it possible to yearn so keenly? It has only been ten days, if that.]

I quiver with preconception, fantasizing becoming integral, somehow, from afar.
Would a stable young man accept a derailed woman’s unsolicited adoration?
There is a relentless ray of hope blossoming in my bosom though I know not.
That bitch knows no boundaries, that Hope monster. Vile, that’s what She is.
She will not give me space anymore, it is all Deli Man, Deli Man, O Deli Man.
Self is consumed unabashedly to make room for an idea if not the actual man.
Absurdity in its purest format, surely, one must acknowledge and acquiesce.

[Deli Man, O Deli Man, whatever shall I do now that I find myself infatuated with you?]

I offer you my heart, battered and bruised. Oh, how it aches.
I offer you my soul, tarnished and used. Oh, how it burns.
I offer you my body, ageing yet ageless. Oh, how it chafes.
I offer you everything there is to offer, every string attached.
O, Nameless Deli Man, irrationality has gripped me ever so tightly.
What lies in store behind those exceptional, intense grey eyes?
It is either Heaven or Hell, pending your thoughts and feelings. (N’est-ce pas?)


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