Last Love (Poetry)

Her likes to talk of her — her name
creeps into all our conversations,
Love sustains a steady flame
and glows through all his revelations.

It’s “she did this” and “she said that,”
we notice how his voice grows lively
telling courtship tales to catch
her girlish ghost called up so blithely.

The photographs about the room
stand testament to vows unbroken,
counter-point bereavement’s gloom,
her smile holds secrets still unspoken.

He talks of everything that’s past
for there’s no way of guaranteeing
anything we have will last —
Nostalgia rules, for the time being.