Wringer. Poem by Peter Vealey

I am emotionally hurt,
Already.
By being in the same,
House,
As my lover.
Yards away she sleeps,
I awake to,
The third night of 'us'
In a 'House'
I turn from half-light,
To growing heartache.
Where am I?
Slow dropping tears,
Exorcising me, selfishly!
Fraught dry pauses,
Old, cold glasses soon no more.
Grief is facing me,
Head on!
Love me?
Even talk to me?
Probably not.
Wonderful, loving, fragile, warm,
Losing my religion
Yet,
Healing by the seconds!
She is my divinity, but my
Burden!
Traveling to a tunnels` end,
Amidst a train-like emotion,
I am fraught now,
Torn out just now!
Lover,
I never wanted to be 'lovers' or labels
Just us