Our Lives
I can look into her, or any woman's eyes
And see our lives together. All the days
Have candle-lit slow dinners with soft talk.
The barefoot moonlight strolls along the beach
And shaded summer afternoons in bed.
She sometimes too, returns my easy look,
Knowing too well the thoughts she senses there,
Written behind the smile I offer her.
Then she will see the nights she spends alone.
The table with gutted candles drowned in wax,
Uneaten food, and waiting empty plates.
The sea's long, pounding, raging, futile storms,
Her long and lonely walks across the beach
And solitary tear-filled afternoons.
She sees a list of all my failed attempts.
A catalogue of disappointing days.
Her smile fading, she turns and walks away.
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