Tears Before Bedtime

She is drinking in his absence
and caressing the dirty dishes,
before singing to her sad self,
with a taste of newly pressed shirt,
ironed and folded in her mind;

The house, vibrant with an absence,
that is unthinkably random
and alien, has the lost brightness
of fading domesticity,
ebbing through all its empty rooms;

And she can brush her teeth,
so wantonly in the bathroom;
but, as night draws in, there are no
shoes to trip over and no love
to be had between the chill sheets;

Even the coffee isn't real here,
without his words at the table,
where she ate her dinner alone;
and there isn't any pillow talk:
just tears before bedtime today.