It’s been  while since we’ve spoke, 

I wonder…  because if stigmatised truth or dearth of substance. 

I feel it’s the subject, it turned an obscure ombre.

A minds regard of the quiet clandestine workings of a wandering eye. 

And a relative conscious. 

I read love poems of devotions and pure affection. They too like the gloss movies, a reality away from the compromises and warmth of daily love. 

In fiction it vanquishes all, but I see it beaten by jealousy, pettiness and self pity.

A sacred pantomime we all dance to, I’ve found mine but still I wonder.