Divorced

He is standing at the bedroom window
before full breaking of the dawn --
pensive...humble...planning,
without a stitch of clothing on.
Mmmm, mmmmm, mmmm.
He doesn't realize that I'm staring
from the quiet side of the bed.
Fitfully I slept, if slept,
from a horror that I read.
And now I, awake again and again,
in abstract find his silhouette intrigues me.
I hug his pillow to me,
     burying my face in his remains
          and searching for his scent.
Without turning from his planning
to encourage, to advise --
without grandstanding his full presence
to the delight of these brown eyes --
he beckons, "Come!  Caress my body limber,
fell me like a mighty timber."
Head and shoulders rising from my pillow,
I stretch out my hand to him,
and, awakening still,
finally recognize my ironing board
leaning against the drapes.