You glanced at me when you left for work.
There were miles of future in your eyes.
The flame that was once there was gone.
You’re warning by your look, passed over me.
The thought you were done, as I have expired to you, could not be.
Where would I go?
What would I do?
Let you go?
Let you demean me?
Preparedness is often wise…
Ill be in the sitting room when you get home, and when you glance my way…
I pray you register what I’m telling you…
Then you’ll understand, when fresh from your shower, why your alone.
Love does not demean, and when it does, run from who will allow it to be.