Feel the loneliness.
Feel the heat, my lover.
It is butter you crave
with your breakfast bread,
I give you-
unwashed curtains.
It is not revenge
my heart is filled with
today, rather I miss
not kissing you
whenever I will.
No points to prove
at your or anybody's expense.
Just a demand for empathy,
a drill, compulsory,
for us to remain still-
This Girl who met That Boy
and found un-marital joy.
Man and Wife
put on shoes and leave
out the door, they walk
where they are wanted
at beck and call of domesticated plots.
We, within, are barefoot.
Tackily listening to
Nothing Else Matters,
we dance Cajun.
All this and more, my lover.
First the stain, then the butter.
