You must come to them sideways



In rooms webbed in shadow,



Sneak a view of their emptiness



Without them catching



A glimpse of you in return.







The secret is,



Even the empty bed is a burden to them,



A pretense.



They are more themselves keeping



The company of a blank wall,



The company of time and eternity







Which, begging your pardon,



Cast no image



As they admire themselves in the mirror,



While you stand to the side



Pulling a hanky out



To wipe your brow surreptitiously.





