His Shoes at the Door
I miss his shoes resting at my door,
His heart as I begin to snore,
The stories he’ll keep repeating,
His charming ‘it’s not just me’ thing.
I miss the way his apologies-
Don’t sound surreal,
Or pining to please,
But like a gentleman,
Sound complete.
I miss the sound of his footsteps,
Next to mine as darkness sets.
The bus rides and the swings,
The steps and our matching rings.
I love the way he lights up evenings,
And the telescope through which he sees things.
I love how I am still myself,
Even with him for hours.
That he admits to needing-
Some isolation flowers.
I love the way he holds me close
And kisses me in bed.
Even when I feel like a ghost,
Or look like something dead.
I love his dreary moods,
His cheerful moments, plenty,
His hands, his heart, his eyes, his mind-
His voice a solitaire gentry.
Someday he’ll be back in my space,
With his shoes resting at my door.
Until then I’ll write and swoon,
Waltzing through the storm.
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Written on August 08, 2020
- 1:03 min read
- 61 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | AABB CXCXX XXDD DDXEBE XFXF XGXG XAXX |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 979 |
Words | 210 |
Stanzas | 7 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 5, 4, 6, 4, 4, 4 |
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"His Shoes at the Door" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 21 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/163677/his-shoes-at-the-door>.
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