On My Own

I close my eyes and he is there,
Sweet tendrils of touch and feel- lukewarm
Spewing, raging from memory-
He calls the name of another.

Without flaw, without faith of plot
Runs one night to the next;
My dreams draw the finest shards
Of a poor mirror's broken kaleidoscope.

To yearn is empty, passions thrive,
Hide, and shroud my old crudity-
Secretly spartan walls unsightly,
Still alone at siege's end.