Paper Tiger

When our love dies,
it will drown,
shoved surely beneath amber waves of  grain.

You drink outside in the dark under an infinite autumn sky,
Bud Lite can in your left hand,
staring at the garbage as it burns.

Forsaken, I wait,
longing for your attention made impotent,
wearing bargain lingerie,
in an empty room:
a forgotten trophy on your shelf.

I am not enough.
There are ashes in your beer,
But you won't quit.

Through the window,
You are dark against the fire.
I am barren,
unable to deliver you to the sweetness of our lives,
to amaze you with our gifts,
aware of how two souls need to drift free
with fire pixies and stars,
to feel the direction of theWind.

You crack your last beer, pull it to your lips and drink,
then throw the blue and silver case into the fire.
We are separate;
we are both numb,
and I know the end of one more Saturday night.