Forgetting my husband
by Gail
The first time that the tapestry
of my life unravelled,
threads ripped out until only
the bare weft of the pattern,
my name, remained,
I still wanted him for his skin
and scent, this man waiting
quietly for the reweaving
in which he had no part,
but of which he was certain,
the man who kissed me back
as fiercely as the first time,
the time which only he remembered.
