Afterglow

Is there any dignity

In an afterglow?

To inhabit chalky coals

As clothing worn

When we make love,

But are not loved; only needed.

No other animal wears clothes

Or wants so fiercely to adore and be adored

In spite of itself,

That our pining grows forests

Of sappy, sticky branches

Cut down for someone’s lonely hearth.

We have all been useful in this way;

For if we are not adored, then we can be

A door for lovers to pass through

Or a warm fire to stay by

And though the light in their eyes is

Just the glow of contentment,

And not the flame of love,

There is poignancy to our afterglow –

After all, the room is warm:

For we are not giving ourselves up,

But expanding upwards as we give.