The Lonely One

I’m waiting. I strangled the memory
Of your afternoon glory; held it tightly
like a child nursing its toy. All spruced white
As a maiden, you blew scent in the heat
Of the afternoon. Now in blackness, I’m
Gripping the chaos of the darkness; I’m
Remembering her electric screams,
Body taught then collapsing. Now it seems
Neither minutes nor hours, ‘til your coat
Is hung up, and my hands squeeze at your throat.