When She’s Gone

 When she’s gone;
 No more endearing smile to greet my return
 or laugh at wry and corny puns.
 No caress of the neck or tender rub of the arm. 
 An absence of affection even in inconsequential moments.
 When she’s gone;
 A silence in place of wistful songs of love.
 No more care in moments of need.
 An absence of knowing she will be there, always, but then not 
 there.
 When she’s gone;
 A longing for words that admonished when things went wrong, 
 and yet its demand required.
 A hole of improvement to be filled, but left undone.
 When she’s gone;
 No pride in watching her dance, a beautiful Golden Follies 
 Bergere, feathers o’er her smiling face.
 When she’s gone; 
 No reassuring clack of her loom in distant room.
 The joy of accomplishment left behind, as costumes hang 
 lifeless, and woven towels and scarves lay hidden in drawers, no 
 longer given.
 When she’s gone;
 No feeling of wanting, of sexual yearn.
 A reassurance of manhood, as this figure waned.
 Her body still haunting after years of toil and age.
 When she’s gone;
 A lack of anticipation for things to come.
 No crazy impulses to thrill the hour. 
 A day at the ocean, now only nostalgic, as waves wash over the 
 the memories of the water sign that was her.
 When she’s gone;
 A hush reigns where voices rang out in congenial times. Her gregariousness no longer dampening my loneliness.
 She was best for me in many ways. 
 Now I am left once again on my own, to muse and remember, for 
 she is gone