Archive
11/02/10 - (1)
Empty Bed
Awakening, this Tuesday morning, In a bed empty of your sweet, breathing being, Isn't just dismaying, dislocating, disorienting; It's the epitome of melancholy, a desolation all too palpable. Finding myself totally alone, in my yearning nakedness, I'm in pain; worse, I am the pain itself. How can four nights, sleeping beside you, inside you, Have filled my spirit with such joyous, peaceful dreams And, now, left me so weak and disconsolate, weeping?
Is it always going to be this way, That after spending extended nights together, Leaving you will seem so monumentally heartrending? And if this is to be my life's sorrow, Is there nothing I can do to ameliorate the grieving? Might we consider a different arrangement, Something, say, on the order of staying together forever, Not letting one another out of each other's touch, Keeping warm, beneath the sheets, never getting out of bed?
11/02/10 - (1)
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