He upbraids his wife, hates her self-conceit.
Most often, though, in nuzzling her neck,
The man is deaf to her trumpeted sacrifices.
Their daily chaos, all dirty laundry, smudged
Kisses, revived hurts, broken pots, other bits,
Remain unremarkable in proffering protection.
Belated rewards for more perilous paths stall,
Take into consideration no displaced music,
Ignore all other marital-associated privileges.
Depravation pushes intimacy on such beloveds.
They rush, finally, not the highest flowering,
Barely perceivable, their union’s ruined blossoms.
Thereafter, often sun spaces before nightfall,
When words, like winter’s forest leaves,
Grow brittle, his eyes sparkle blue-white.
He reflects military strongholds’ treasures, recalls
Fortress schools and nunneries, buried for eras.
No chairman of the board or henchmen win.
Covered with silver, antiquated feelings surface,
She examines the notion that it’s best to observe
Partners when they’re deeply sleeping or dead.
