At my feet

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Pine cones crackled on the smouldering fire,
as I curled up like a cat with you at my feet.
You were looking sheepishly, desperately, desirably
at the beautiful young woman
just out of reach on the opposite high-back,
while I savoured every song, every bite,
every sip of your home-brewed beer.
I had wanted to fall in love,
and in that room in your house
I wanted you to fall in love with me.
Did you not recognise it?

I cried, deeply saturated my heart in tears,
for all the hope I lost in that one moment
when you told me you met someone else,
someone better than me.
You are still searching.
You never reverted back to me.





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