The Gate

It was the last thing constructed Just before you deconstructed our chances Put up quickly, like your walls... The gate swings, both inward and outward As if the moods of you, the wind You took time enough to hammer it's posts Unnecessarily deep, into my soil Ensuring it would withstand time And tempest weather It remains unpainted... Purposely... Let time and temperature color it As time and tempers colored us I have no choice but to open it, Walk thru it, every single damn day Feeling it quickly close behind me A kick in the ass I have laced it with scarlet begonias Dripping down the sturdy side Trying to make it a beautiful entrance Not just a reflective rejected exit... Sometimes the Cardinals come Pretty, they perch and stare at my loneliness They remember when we were two Holding onto thoughts of the picket fence life That was just beyond the gate...