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One foot in place,
Bed of decease.
Palms on the pillow of rest, 
Tombstone.
Soil linen unfolded to cover the mourning soul.
Despondency at the Mormon rain of thoughts,
"For better or for worst...Till death..."
Seems bewildering now after all the years of faithfulness.
External charm of her womanhood stroked daily by words of sweet nothing,
Innermost lift untouched by human's hand.
Secret heart tramped by  reflection of trespasses,
Wondering of "Is it me? For what could I have done greater in love?"
Her cheek pressed firm in oneness with the windowpane.
Tears flowing,
Holding back the warmth summer arrays upon the glasswork.
Emotions fight to keep her in the breathing,
Reasoning her way out in weariness.
Final breath,
Words exhaled in one accord.
Another-
"Yes, transgression I have lived, continuing? I am already in existence."
Thinking within of never giving to the excellence of her womanliness in marriage.
Sound of a door ajar,
Slamped.
"Honey!"
Thoughts of her or someone else?
Maybe moments of overwhelming Monday night football with the boys.
Speedily wiping the weeping from her presence.
"I'm here!"
Or is she?
A woman unloved is given possibility of foolish acts.
I meditate at times on this alone;
Solitude decision on her behalf?
Additional help sent from somewhere near,
Maybe the better half?
"Better half?" Forgive me. That doesn't sound right.

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