I enter your space with keys I should
not keep - slow motion in my feet, and
ponder a room the color of pallor,
familiar, but withholding.
Ever so neat and tidy, appearing unused,
lacking tenderness. No slippery satin
puddled on the floor in the glow of candles.
A room for spontaneity now chaste.
The sun does not cast shadows through
covered windows. Dust falls in the
silence, daring to settle.
Between closed curtains, I peer at
grey asphalt, a bareleafed tree without
birds, and a row of vacant cars spaced
within faded yellow lines.
Once the roar of love - now diminished,
I resist query during your quiet abuse.
And I sense I am breathing breathless air,
and gift a vase with loves' red rose.
Velvet petals scatter, screaming – he’s gone!
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