I’m standing in the bedroom doorway-
watching you sit on the black chair:  
drink in one hand- remote in the other.    
Only question I can think of is;      
Who is this stranger on my couch?        
You look just like him- even your frown.          
You’re driving his car – using his stuff,            
and taking his role as my man;              
but you’re frighteningly unknown to me.

My man, showered me with kisses-  
his corny jokes rolled until the night,    
our connection was undeniable,      
but your heart is so very distant,      
your intimacy has desiccated and died;        
I can barely get 2 words from you,          
so you must be an intruder!

Where’s the man I fell heavily for?
The man that had joy in his eyes  
Or maybe it is me that has changed!    
Either way I’m fighting for the real “us” again.