Refraction.

Clovette's Lover

A sweetness lingers in the air;
Its cause nowhere to be seen.
Darling Clovette has left the room,
Now it is just
Her lover and me.
How quickly that perfume sours
As I lock eyes with the bastard
Who lays beside her every night...
I think of all the things she deserves:
The world and all it contains;
All of the grandeur, the wonder,
Every last luxury on hand
To satiate her desires;
Every gentle touch and kind word.
Why she tolerates her lover,
I shall never know -
So clear is the cowardice, the weakness,
The selfish streak in that cad's eye;
The wretch I see
Could never hang on to her sweet words
With zeal enough
To honour them as the gospel that they are.
I long to give her my every moment
Until the flow of time runs dry;
To adore and to worship
My darling Clovette,
To be her comfort; to stave off
The cold.
I glare back at the cur;
How reprehensible could a person be
To take a position where they will always receive
So much more than they could ever give?
The beauty, the love, the loving -
She provides, but what does she gain?
I long to do something, to put the bastard
Back in the gutter,
In the street, anywhere but here;
Anywhere that sweet Clovette isn't.
How torn I am
To lock eyes with her lover -
The wretch is happy, as is she,
But I would be remiss, I think,
To let them be.
That cad, that cur, that dog:
The infidel could never devote
All of time, each breath of air, every beat
Of a lover's heart, to her.
I curse the bastard, but recompose
Myself as dearest Clovette returns.
I take one final look at her lover:
At that coward, that beast, that fool,
Before she pulls me away from the mirror.
She loves me, somehow
She loves me, and - as she lays her hand
Upon my cheek - the bastard
Is suddenly pure.
Her love, acceptance, is infectious.
I glance back at the mirror,
And somehow fall in love
With Clovette's lover.
Somehow I offer a grace I never knew
I could have
To that wretch, and I love him
Almost as I love her.