It was about nine a fine September evening
when I walked to your house
wanted to return a book I had borrowed.
When I knocked, it took a long time before you opened,
and when you did your arms were outstretched you dropped them quickly
your shoulders sagged.
I could see that you had been crying;
behind you the table was laid for two red candles unlit.
“Come in” you said,
“I invited a friend but he isn’t coming
a shame to let the food go to waste.”
I ate food, that wasn’t meant for me,
the candles remained unlit,
and tried to cheer you up by telling jokes.
Drank too much you did
slurred words giggled and invited me to stay.
Put you to bed
switched off all lights and left.
I love you
and had thought of telling you so
when returning the book.
Guess I’ll have to wait a bit longer
before I do.