By Benita Robinson
Loveless and lovelorn,
I have been both.
Mostly the first
Lately, the second.
And I daresay the second’s worse
Constant longing
for my empty growling vessel
to be filled;
a drop here, a few spoonfuls there
(a call here, a few meetings there)
in a vacuum made for gallons
Intense pangs followed by dull aches
finally settle to a numbing weariness,
a resigned state.
Slowly, echoes of silly thoughts dance around
the hollow halls of the mind:
Baseless fears, loud silences,
monstrous shadows of non-problems,
hallucinations of non-rejections,
embarrassing mumbles of non-words
that escape my lips
when those little chances do arrive-
all strengthen the resolve to revert
to the lovelessness of the past,
a resolve that dissolves
at the first sound of his dear voice,
the music of his merry laughs!