“It isn’t, like taking an aspirin”
“Go ask the Doc – only time can heal
my errant past”.
I sigh, sitting watching the space between
us, becoming ever more undone.
I am not a saint – I’m well aware of that.
I am just me; an ordinary woman
struggling alone; to stem what has
fast become, our retreating subsistence.
I bid you to finish your meal –
In this life; not in the next.
“I want us to sleep on the rug tonight
like newly weds curled up by the fire”.
Yet for reasons, unknown – what seems
a sensual sentiment does not quite
make contact with your eyes.
Sighing, I close the door behind me.
I shall leave you to your own sterile crusade.
I am much preferring my bed –
along, with a little something, to quickly
take away this constant pain.
For time, is something that I know:
‘We’ do not have.
Poppy December 2013 ~xx~