Back from the doctors and can't put Lorca down...

the doctor visits are pretty quick here, and not mention convient; my doctor's office is right around the corner.
And yes I am sick, the saying is true that your emotions can certainly make you ill however, as I rest my laurels in my warm, comfy bed I read the poetry of Frederico Garcia Lorca:

Sonnet of the Sweet Complaint

Never let me lose the marvel

of your statue-like eyes, or the accent

the solitary rose of your breath

places on my cheek at night.

I am afraid of being, on this shore,

a branchless trunk, and what I most regret

is having no flower, pulp, or clay

for the worm of my despair.

If you are my hidden treasure,

if you are my cross, my dampened pain,

if I am a dog, and you alone my master,

never let me lose what I have gained,

and adorn the branches of your river

with leaves of my estranged Autumn.

— Federico Garcia Lorca