Rondeau

The last of our nights is ending;
still he prefers
to leave me alone and quiet.
I should have had tools for tending
hope when it stirs.
The last of our nights is ending;
still he prefers
to let me stay home, befriending
crickets and furs,
while he drinks his depth of riot.
The last of our nights is ending;
still he prefers
to leave me alone and quiet.

With my expectations drying,
aiming them low,
the frustrating heart-clamp daunts me.
Since he doesn't see me dying,
why let him know?
With my expectations drying,
aiming them low,
to let him be drunk on flying--
may I let go?
The effort I've wasted taunts me.
With my expectations drying,
aiming them low,
the frustrating heart-clamp daunts me.