When You're Gone

I like it when you're gone
for an afternoon or evening
I vacuum and consolidate the garbage,
cook and listen to my
books on tape,
watch my shows
maybe even pee
with the door open
luxuriating in the privacy.

For a day
I stay busy
more cleaning-
wiping counters, scrubbing sinks,
sweeping stairs-
perhaps reorganizing drawers
or mopping floors
maybe I'll try a new dish
something ambitious
to impress on your return.

A weekend
I can tolerate
but the tasks begin to reach
color coding DVDs
cleaning baseboards
reading entire books
journaling then ordering dozens
of prints on Shutterfly
to augment said journaling.

I enjoy it mostly
but there's only so much
solitary fussing that can be done
before the reality sets in.

After days
I notice a dulling
yes, I miss you
your laugh
your comforting embrace
your conversation
and encouragement
your simple companionship
but I realize more acutely
the absence of our partnership
which over years has become
just as vital a part of me
my identity
as my love of movies
my compulsive cleaning
my hometown Rockford
my motorcycle
as defining
as anything that makes me me
and in your protracted absence
I feel a startling weakness
and I am reminded
how much strength you give me
how enlivening is our love
and though I know I can endure
I'd rather not
so please come home.