What is there to do but whisper your name,

for to say it loud is like asking the Devil

to sit down with me and sup on tea and dine

on roasted flesh

of fatted calf and potatoes,

empty but for their skins

blighted by your ignorance.

 

I find I care not where you are

and yet out of the corner of my eye

I see your leftover remains

and I know you will be forever close by

despite my best efforts to ignore you now,