End of the Affair

No bags to pack
No children or mortgages
No joint accounts to separate.

Just a single star-shaped earring
That we'd searched in vain for on your carpet
After it came out
Last time.
You push it across the table now,
Your hand outstretched,
But not to meet mine.

That just leaves
The touches, the kisses
The hugs and the caresses.
I still have some of yours.
You still have some of mine.

So what do we do about those?

Juliet England

If you've any comments on this poem, Juliet England would be pleased to hear from you.