The jeweled box of love and mem’ries springs
Wide; clicking, glinting from the lumined room.
The bothered dust doth make a mist of things;
The air and I surrender to the plume.
My lips move against your ear to whisper
My revenge; hindsight checks my eager tongue.
We move through that fateful week undeterred,
But still you leave, and I remain undone.
I close the box as clocks can’t be rewound.
If pride had not soaked my stoic nature
Would it be that I were here still alone?
If I had knelt, begged: might love still endure?
I stand to wipe my face, to snuff the flame,
To pray for quick respite from love’s vile pangs.