Pen and Heart

 

My pen is dry; my heart is bare
I spend my days in silence reading
And what you’ve done’s your own affair

Cheever, Woolf, and Baudelaire,
From us your love at last receding. 
My pen is dry; my heart is bare

I need no comfort, words or prayer,
Nor your return with eyes of pleading
And what you’ve done’s your own affair.

Do not believe I’m unaware
Of sin, of lure, of longing, needing
My pen is dry; my heart is bare

I have no room for vain despair
Little here for drama’s feeding
And what you’ve done’s your own affair.

No words from me, no lines to share
Nor tale from you I will be heeding.
My pen is dry; my heart is bare
And what you’ve done’s your own affair.