Apology To My Lover Poem by ivory simone

I heard you were sick. I wanted to call.
To inquire about you. Then I thought
about your wife. Her strained voice
coming through the receiver. I don't want
to beg for crumbs.

There was a time when you were a torrid
fever, a sweet madness that kept me wet.
No matter how much I washed, the scent of our
insatiable rutting stayed with me.
Even now, I am shameless.
I want to climb into your sick bed,
wrap my legs around your hips,
pull you deep inside of me.
You and I were fluttering moths,
transfixed by passion's flame,
oblivious to the cost.

Payment is due. Although you're ill,
I cannot come to you. The sharp beaks
of the nesting birds are ready to draw blood.
They are the guardians of hearth and home.
I'm an interloper, a jezebel, a home-wrecker.

Forgive me, my love, for not attending to you.
Not moping your brow or placing a cup of water
to your lips. I want to stand watch over you.
To greet you when you open your eyes after a
restless sleep.

At night my heart leaves my body. It travels
across town. Scampers through an opening
in your bedroom window only it can find.
And waits for you to hear it beating.
To let you know I'm here. Still here.