I sit under this tree.
Life is slow,
and so
it should be,

in the face of nature's show.
I sit and listen closely—
I'm sure I can hear her grow.

So for her,
her age is not a number;
her rings are all that count,

as are the secrets kept within her,
of all she has seen below—
like those who have been kept waiting
by the loves that never show.

The old oak tree.
Regal, she stands watching all.
Beneath all is small.

Each day.
All I see—
a shadow.
For me,
you left
long ago.

Each day,
we share
the same space,
but there is no
trace
of you—
the person
I once knew.

Each day,
I long to
look deep
into your eyes.
But I know
all I will ever see
is black—
my reflection
staring back.

You don’t laugh anymore.

Well,

not like you did before.

Your lust like fire. Flames,
at my soul rip. Smoke, like love
through my fingers slip.

Can I stow away
in the depths of your heart?
Hidden in the shadows,
I'll stay out of sight;
then slip past the guards
in the dead of the night.
I'll be that stranger
stood at the bar—
pinstripe suit,
buttonhole, tie.

A knowing look,
our secret code.
The wink of an eye,
our signal to go.
Exit by a side door
into the night,
a shadowy figure
beneath a single street light.
A scribbled message,
in a telephone box—
L is for Love,
P is for Pay.
The babysitter, she's asking—
she’s done for the day.

Chill of a northern town —
rows of orange streetlights pour,
light on red brick walls.