Usual Suspects

Even in this early sun
the pain lingers,
emptying my heart
as a hand upturns the bowl.

Bitter waters, spilling
onto hard ground,
seems the right reward
for me as I recall her.

Looking back, seeing the past
as should have been,
I judge the wet soil
as a warning: lost dreams.

In my marital comfort,
safely secure,
she comes back to me
and I long to hold her again.

In my heart resides, long dormant,
the waking smirk
of remembered lusts-
the usual suspects.