ardour – an intense feeling of love
I dine alone, in honor of you.
I turned from your place, at the head
of the table. drunkenly, I stared
into your cold and laden plate.
‘how was your day, my love?’
the room is decorated in celebration, of you
concealed and remaining mute of our ecstasy
avoiding all those who spoke ill of you.
avoiding all those whom mocked me
–to turn me against you–
feuding with absurdity and realism
I ignored inner cautions and chose to live
only in worship, of you.
‘dearest, when are you coming home?’
legless, I balanced alongside the table
seeking sanctuary from misery.
forsaken’d, I find stability in
numbly caressing fond memories of
our love and inattentive to conscious certainty.
‘…no longer warm on your side of the bed…’
it is no longer warm on the side of the bed,
where you used to sleep.
Image “Room to think” by artist Steve Hanks