An hour's separation seems an age,
A day, eternity. How will it feel
A week from now? The world is tinged with beige
And I begin to doubt I am quite real,
Or if I am, then it is not. If you
Remain away for longer than you've been,
I fear that I may go around the bend
So far that I will disappear from view,
Or else sink down into a glass of gin.
This is unfair of me; how can I spend
The hours that you leave me for my own
Moaning at you for being so unfair?
I know that we both need our time alone
So I'll resist incipient despair.
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