Lemon bouquet
in a mallow vase,
cider candle flickering.
Me, lounging
listless and dreading
another dawn with you gone,
having to rise with the sun
and burn on and on
and on
and on…
My flowers have not wilted yet,
and flame dances
fiercely upon
fresh wick.
But still, I sit
and reminisce
in the most empty
of all silences.
Will you come home
before the life and light
waste away
with my
raw soul?
Or will you find
dust and decay
when you unlock
our door?
pm poetry 