ACT I br br It was not your presence, br rather its absence br felt; br when in the theater br whispering to you br how good the play was br you, br snapped shut, like a mussel, br br leaning away. br No good actor like they upon the stage, br you could not feign br nor mask your feelings enough br to even laugh. br br Rather, looking for a que, br forget your lines br as your voice dropped… br and out dribbled br the terrible silence br of your act of love that flopped. br br Reaching for your hand, br five fingers scampering away br into your pocket br like a crab to its shell, br I was speechless, forgot my lines. br br And there we sat, br two sad mimes, br staring at our play br of life, br both, standing in the wings, br with bit parts and nothing to say. br br ACT II br br br In bed, a kiss br neither wet, nor passionate, br no tongue, nor lips… br we pecked, like birds br at the hard shell br of our roles cast in marriage. br br Your caress; br not the grip of one br holding dear for her life, br but rather of letting go; br more formality than bliss br in the absence, of which, br br Either lip, eye or finger br or the sensuality of taste, sight or touch br could not prop up a lie, br even a gentle white one br to pretend, act or defy br br this final act… br of our death scene, br with heads bowed, br and without applause, br I drew the curtain, br bowed, said goodnight, br and turned the house lights out.