From the Mattress I Watched

When last we met, your gilded, golden face
lit the room bright like a fantastical firefly.
No darkness there - save for in myself,
for you were with others.

Like old times you laughed, shaking the world free of fear,
soft warmth in each breath, blissful,
heatwaves wobbling the air like the ghastly pattern
on those dreary curtains.

With kindness you showed surprising benevolence
from the plastic chair by the desk where you lay
but the offer, alas, was not yours to say,
so, not by my terms, I stayed.

From the lumpy mattress I watched
as you played with those who deserved your love,
who can handle and best your love;
not me with my affliction.

My affliction that brought the previous meeting tumbling,
crumpling, into a mushroom cloud of terror.
Dust unsettled for half a year,
with slow and lonely recovery.

Unmatched in her love, greyness grew sour,
Though high on desperate replacements,
Falling short of necessity, I manage.
Now awaiting uncertain the dreamt day.