The Candle Burning

I do not know who I miss more tonight The man I loved or the poet Who taught me of love's pain Either way, I am home alone With the task of tasting my own tears To tired to reach for another tissue I swipe streaked mascara On the back of my hand And thumb through old McKuen books In search of a sentence that makes sense Of senseless parting The oscillating fan drowns out The mindless monologue of what might have been Had we let the windows stay open wide enough For all the flying faults to escape The evening breeze knows me well As does the dim light of the candle burning In this sad sanctuary of a room well decorated With pillows and plush covers You sould have found comfortable I stare at paintings, done in blue Acquiring more room, than necessary, On the cozy couch, shared with my compassionate cat Who hardly sees a reason for my crying Although I know, he also misses the hand of the man Who once stroked our sorrows to sleep