A virus ravages the world.
A famine envelops mine.
I crawl into bed,
Having no measure of time,
Sleep eludes me for days,
As your memory ravages my mind.
I lift up the pillow you used
And hold it to my face.
Your smell has followed you away.
I remember,
If you remember how I would,
Or if you undoubtedly felt
When you said,
I don’t want to be with you.
Promises have no small print.
They are to be weighed with care.
They are not mere words spoken.
They prove only truth not dare.
They act as a sacrament:
A foundation set in stone:
Love’s finger codes each of them,
Fate makes each of them atone.
They are providential:
They become subject to suit
Even the smallest flower,
When it was yet just a root.
Promises are marks of love,
Just hunger is what they ease.
They mark a higher power,
For hope is what they increase.
Our love was unusual
And most could not understand;
But, as long as we three did,
It was bliss, it became grand.
It was him, and you, and me,
And it was all bright then.
Being understood by all
Was not for us three gay men.
You left, a few days ago,
Giving me no chance for hope.
He lies with my burden now,
He struggles to help me cope.
I held you to this standard:
My other pennant of care…
Now I stand devastated,
Before all, ashamed and bare.
He tries to shield my spirit,
As they were all proven right.
For you could not choose to stay –
And gave up without a fight.
Hearts Still Care 
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