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9/18/2016 2:50:54 PM

Terry Robinson
Posts: 49

Let me ask you this, now that you are dead;

do you still see me or do you just remember

how I looked?

Forty-eight years are a lot of years

to close the bedroom door

and suddenly find I am the only person

in the room. How do I feel? Alone

Do you even wear the clothes I packed

you off in? And if so, have you managed

to fray your shirt cuffs yet?

Do you know that Saturdays still exist for me?

that the bills struggle to get paid. That I still dress

in the same old clothes, and gave yours away

to charity because the blueness of your shirts

reminded me too much of your eyes.

Or, that no matter how I try I cannot caress

myself the way that you always did.

I truly miss those champagne moments.

And are our songs still played in your ears

as they are in mine, or do you just watch

me dance and wonder why?

Do you know when I am thinking of you?

Or should I speak in whispers as if your ear

were always by my lips.

Yet, now that I'm alone, I carry a secret question

deep within my bones; do you even exist

in that non-existent land? Essence

without substance, hope without truth.

Shouldn't Saturdays mean something again?

Shouldn't my bed be used to bring me more

than hollow, empty nights? Shouldn't my days

be spent looking for love and fresh buds?
edited by trobbo44 on 9/18/2016

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