Strangers

on Jun 18, 2009  

Six months, two weeks, four days

Since the last time you touched me.

Even then, I was not convinced.

I still wonder daily if you’re the man I married.

Our love has dwindled

To empty stares and callous touches,

Our once overzealous need (for each other) replaced by tolerance.

I avoid lingering in your presence,

As we buy time til this charade ends,

Wondering how we got to this place

Where you are as much a stranger

As the man that delivers our mail.