Did you turn off the light before leaving the house?
The lamp that swayed in the summer breeze whilst we kissed under it?
Watchful, buzzing voyeur.

Is it the light you come to each evening,
pulling at your tie, the car key tossed into a dish from Murano?
Your shadow pulled across the wall by its filaments.

Someone once told me to win at life there must be motivation. There must be an acceptance of the inevitable in the face of reclaimed success.
I thought of you then.
How we tried. And tried. How I now wonder:
Does the light shine overhead as you move about your days?
Do you leave the room in darkness when you close the door?
Switch off.
Only to return changed. Of course.

Does the light of our thousand intimacies break
the spell of the past each instance it flickers on.
Tell me how you light up since we said goodbye.

Dubai, 23 June 2019.