i.
an evening shower
speckles the window.
a candle burns
on the bedside table,
its fitful flame
my sole companion.
upstairs, a couple
hurl obscenities
impossible to ignore
into desiccated air.
ii.
two glasses of wine
haven’t dulled
the low rumble
of sobs which seep
between antique,
well-worn floorboards.
finally alone,
her absinthe eyes
red from grief
remain my dream
as night slowly
drips with despair.
