Zuri After Xena

I wonder what Zuri must feel,
As she looks at your bed;
Pauses briefly –
Then walks on ahead.

Do dogs sense absence,
Know loss, feel grief?
For sure, when I come home,
She softens in relief.

So does your scent linger,
After a fortnight of loss?
It must…or am I just
Displacing remorse?

She moves more quietly now.
Yet her love is clear:
It doesn’t understand space –
Dead, alive, there, here.

My eyes well up less now,
Though the heart still kneels;
Longing lives on in Zuri;
Through her, my heart feels.

Never Again

I keep giving of love and remain alone;
Either awake at night or with fears.
I learnt much of pain; it comes now by rote
And has quite lost all its share of tears.

The love I give is all consuming.
It comes from within a unique need.
If I am willing to be consumed myself,
How in hell does it classify as greed?

The words I write now have been written.
The pain I am in has been felt.
It feels like my men are on strange repeat.
The cards each deals have been dealt.

The love I have just needs to be seen;
But those I love choose others over me;
And I can’t keep giving up myself –
I must have an end to hope’s tragedy.

I think of love as forever and it hurts.
Each time it brings with it the freshest pain.
As each time my gifts and heart shatter,
I lie to myself and say never ever again.

Old Song

I heard an old song
Sing its pain;
It reminded me
Of us again.

Old songs do that:
Sifting their tune,
Cradled on lost stars
And a forgotten moon.

The words aren’t the same:
They are rusty hooks
And dried old flowers
In dusty books.

It always befalls
That the singer is me;
And what we were
Becomes his melody.

It’s three minutes
Of our past;
Yet, it’s these three
That will last.