That evening I sent you a jet black rose,
Though knowing well you always favored red;
Perhaps covert unkindness bade it so
For some things seem more keen when left unsaid.
I had it delivered up to his room,
My hired sleuth assured that you’d be there;
For reasons vague I watched out in the gloom,
Gray moon a smudge, my face a moveless stare.
Two silhouettes embraced, then lights went out;
My eyes burned deep into that blackened pane—
All life, all love, all hope I cared about
Seemed in an instant gone, fair promise slain.
A street, a fool, a rose, a broken heart;
A night, a moon, a pane…a shameless tart.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.