Widow

 

If I should drift, my duvet is your hold,

To bear me for those precious moments few;

 

If dreaming, all the emptiness within

Delights in colours wondrous, and untold;

 

And before they even open, my eyes drink in

The dozing, blissful, lost, redolent you.

 

They open; and the ghost of what was seen

In sleep awakes before me, never been:

 

You are not here. So soft, alone, I must

Descend an unlit stair: I hold my breath.

 

My sick heart startles me; and hidden sideways

Shadows blink, deceive; I dare not trust

 

A quiet room. The mirror now soothsays

The death behind me, beckoning to death.

 

 

The first few stanzas are dedicated, and were written for, my darling Blair. He has been away for a few nights, and I miss him dearly, and long for his company again. The rest happened because I can’t help being a morbid little thing. 

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