He wanted his indulgence
His desire
Her soft skin against his own
She was not there
He dreamt of her
In the depths of night
And awoke feeling bereft
She was not there
A snapped word
A mis-placed barb
Or no words at all
She was not there
Too many nights awake
Too many demands to be met
His temper so often shredded
She was not there
Seeking solace within their bed
He found it was cold, empty
The wardrobe was open
And, she was not there
~ Jayne d’Arcy ~
01-25-12