Lonely Saturday Night Love Song

The night came to me
like my father.
Tall and quiet and wise.
It scolded me
much like he would.
Then hushed away my cries.
The night reminded me
of the promises I made
under damp sheets and
your ceiling fan.
While you lay there
on your stomach, your cheek
pressed happily
into the palm of my open hand.
It told me to make you smile
saying only that could bring me
back, from the edge of despair.
The light in the corner
showed me the harsher poetry
of the ugly grey lack, of you
upon your favorite chair.
I am less than I was
hoping to be.
I was less than
you need.
I am what remains
when lightning strikes
a tree.
You became the only priest
that could listen to my sins.
You became my last port of call,
and I hated you ever since.
I wanted to be the wings
you used to touch the sky.
But all that's left of me
are the tears in your eye.
I had put on all the masks
of the men I wanted to be.
You saw through everything
and loved the man
I never wanted to be.

And now you're gone.

And I'm sitting here
with four lamps of
darkness all around.
Ink frothing at my lips,
Poetry choking me from
making a sound.