In Roameo's Arms

Every eventide, she tosses and turns
Her cold-draped mattress drips with tears
Nyctophobic; but darkness is her sanctuary
Darkness is the only attire that robes her shadows
Her hubby has been flying like a fly
There’s been no scent of his flesh for months
No word, no pen mark—from him
She’s drained by the sad heart she wears
The reminiscences drive her brain with speed
She’s scared of crushing, never to recover
Her mind plays with her thoughts;
telling her stories of the worse
Her heart keeps faith
but hurts as it poundingly pumps hope
Until last year, his name was Casanova
A name that spins her head
Every night, she fights—trembling in prayer
She curses the job which sent him overseas
She curses all the ‘I cares’ from him
She panics her heart will break
She has known no man but him
The only man she ever worshipped
He’s flown away with home
The heater burns hot but she is cold
Her lips are dry and cracking
She sometimes feels loaned to loneliness
by a hubby who roams the world for wealth