The Lover No Longer
Longed For
By Erik Kestler

How lonesome and grotesque to be
the lover no longer longed for.
After the meal has been gorged,
the crumbs traipse across the floor.

You buy the new face, try the new look,
pick up the room, check out a book.
Rummage oak drawers, in attics dive,
where, like sharks, old photos rise.

Separate beds are cold, but cozy,
they tell you. Yours is warm and lonely.
How harsh, how hard to be
no longer longed for only.