I want my own bed again
and I want to be alone
because that’s what
life is now
a series of good nights
to memories
private moments
which others
invade temporarily
in symbolic acts
of contrition and intimacy
merely signifying
soft betrayals
exhumed in the
burning of daylight
Read Nora Webester by Colm Toibin. A sad wonderful book which your poem reminds.
Typo: Webster.