What do you do when she's gone?
When at the morning's dawn you sleep
in an empty bed and long for her arms,
her charms, her smiles that say
all the while everything will be okay?
What then is there when the house is silent,
her footsteps falling on another floor,
her coming home is to another door?
Who do you become when you're all alone,
calling on the phone to say the words
you wish to hear, the redemption
in her voice, though there's struggle in the choice?
How do you hope to be sure
when the confusion sets in
and there's pain to be had in the joy
of the wonder that is sensual
and sweet and secretive and full of the unknown.