On a dinner table
Dusty candles in
Varnished holders
Waiting to be lit
By an unknown lover’s presence
Slip covers on the furniture
Smother her passions
Her longing to touch another
And taste his enamored kiss
The broken grandfather clock
No longer chimes of hope
And possibilities
The hands are stuck at midnight
She is Cinderella
And late for the ball
The living room curtains
That block out the light
Are soothsayers predicting
Another night of solitude
And regret
Her unmade bed for one
Moans of isolation
The cracks in the window
Reflect her soul
The breakfast nook
Roosters or apples wallpaper
The guest room abandoned
The carpet without foot-falls
She looks around
And begins to cry
