The morning light is
judgement day.
Like life's lingering memorial to inadequacy,
it is a death determined on slow demise.

Exacerbated exhaustion,
£s pounding your brain and taxing souls.

Bedroom shade, blissful sheets and bold coffee are
barless enclosures,
like spindles
patient for a maiden's finger.

The empty bed
I shared with you.
My sleepless hand sought your silhouette,
a frivolous, floating astronaut in space
seeking solace

I stared, gawked, gape into the abyss.
A modern day Sisyphus.
Like sewing seeds in the soil of winter,
or putting on a parka in July.
I am an immortal anticipating an agreeable death.

Though begging and bargaining.
I return, to the empty bed

I shared with you.