I see your hand on the door,
hesitating.

We know it's time.
We know your feast awaits.
We know that I, at least,
will ache with emptiness once you are gone.

Desert me.

We know destiny has laid the table,
that this you deserve–
have prepared for a lifetime.

Only my selfishness keeps you here.

So desert me.
You must…
quickly now.
It is your time;
the Universe wills it.

Go.
Dine.

When the table set is mine,
you will sit beside me.
We will eat the berries,
juice dripping joyously down our chins.

Text and image © 2012 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.