|Big Room, 1948, by Andrew Wyeth|
an empty room
yet I see an invisible fence
no trace of my scent.
why then you have my bust,
is it a link to our past?
essentials of an unfulfilled relationship
permeate the atmosphere
nothing is forgiven.
in that grate
you threw the recipe of our love.
what a smooth operator you have been
you etched my profile with a pencil
so as to remember to forget me
"in that rose tinted dusk
I explore the possibility of your imbalance"