The Next Day
Your side of the bed was empty this morning.
Last night you weren't there for me to kiss you,
and tell you again what I had hoped you knew,
in a ritual that for decades was habit forming.
I knew I should get going, work out at the gym,
but it seemed pointless without a morning tryst
as this sweaty lover telling you'd been missed
and his deep love was not just a passing whim.
Yesterday, you kept that deadly appointment;
feared, delayed and avoided, but now met.
I knew, of course, I'd have to give you up. Yet,
didn't do ritual prayers or anoint with Ointment.
I could not be your Priest, only a failed lover
who could not stop those angels to hover.
No comments:
Post a Comment