Lovesick Pause

Two single beds separated by our legs,
hovering together over the fragile flame
of a single candle, as a siren whirs by out
-side our window. Singing to each other in
French before you blew out the candle and
sent us both into darkness before the final
darkness we were about to greet. Ending
up at the feet of finely dressed ladies and
their tuxedo-clad gentlemen, you were so
pristine, that look on your face so serene.
How come I couldn’t go with you?

Six months later, driving through the snow
in an old Oldsmobile with a canvas roof,
I saw you on the side of Bay street in a
bridal gown, accompanied by the phantom
feeling of a ring on my finger. I wish you
would’ve lingered longer, I have so much to
ask you but the Devil inside me is too
much to overcome; you were always the
strong one and I’m nothing without you.

Drinking strong red alone in the bath, your
picture across from me in black and white,
smiling while music plays gently in
the background, immediately evoking
memories of a smoke-tinged spring day:
grey slush loitering at the feet of snow
mountains, eagerly awaiting the falling
rain; your voice calling out my name, a
sound so familiar it’s real to me now
and I almost get up to see what you
need. Almost. Illuminated by candles once
more I ask to the empty apartment:
how come I couldn’t go with you?
An answer as simple as the realization of a
lost purpose reaches my ears, allaying all my
fears: It’s not your time yet, love, keep on.