Ernesto P. Santiago Poet Romanticism

Meretricious Rose

In the night I wake to find you 
Not in bed, only a pillow, which I wetted it 
Once, with tears of wrinkled time 
Lingers silently, beside me

Oh God, not again, I thought
My sleepy round eyes try to search 
In the stillness of the night, where they 
Slowly deflating like a worn tire

I keep my fingers crossed that you’re 
In the kitchen drinking ouzo, your favorite
Yet, my mind is bursting in paroxysm 
Of unusual, silent rage

But then, I heard sound, a familiar music 
Wafting out from the blue room
As I peer through the half-opened door
The dim light helped me see you, the real you

Lying, in contentment, with your admirer 
Her eyes perfectly closed, and your soft falsetto 
Makes her enjoy the warmness 
Of your blood in the cold winter night

She has your smile, and she’s just like you 
Full of secrets, but only not yet spoken
Why do I find, every time, without you near me
That I am this meretricious rose

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