Solo

Leave him to his solitude
where the light bulb lurches
over the bed
making love to the dark
huddled against the ceiling
and the blankets all are beaten
like wayward apologies.

Let the clock by his pillow
break the sad news
and tally the lies
of her comings
and goings
and their coupling
under the canopy
of weightless flesh
where love once disturbed their sleep
and her arms still ached enough
to break their fall.

For midnight will catch the floor
like it always does
the upwelling of her words
left bristling in the carpet
and send him spilling
in the dark
like blistered silk
setting sadly into the dawn -
just another memory
found missing in the morning.