I blame snow,
The ennui of winter,
And spring’s delay;
But really,
Could it have been
Any different?
It hurts my ears
The house
Is empty,
Soulless
Since you’ve been away.
The plants, the walls
Are breathless
For an explanation—
Will you give one,
A few words
A whispered question?
Or deny
Your perfumed presence?
The house, the plants,
The walls
Are innocent;
Don’t punish them
With your absence.
Haunt me
With your sadness,
Plague me
With your passion.
