No longer do I desire the old
Protection of my drinking companions.
For the hour grows late and all goes ill.
Windows seem to be locked within my mind
And outside, the void is no more welcoming.
She had promised me someone to lean on,
Despite her pale acceptance of my 'success'�
She had declared herself 'a friend'�, always.

Not too far gone, this business of mine,
Though the meetings and worn out calls are over.
I remember the telephone bills,
The enquiry, and my one trip there.
The half-hearted jokes and ceaseless goading,
I missed the reason that I went back
And pored over her Christmas letter for
The very last time.
I have been there twice
Since the last time we met, I have missed you.
But all my attempts end in a stalemate,
As if you wish otherwise for your past.
I remember you, after a fashion,
I struggle to see that being returned
And aim pointless phrases at how I feel.
One last read of your letter reveals you.

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