‘Darling, I am sorry I did not come home last night.’
Thus spoke Quilt, adding softly: it is not what you think.
Silence looked back – blank – no hint of a coming fight.
An eternity, then a sigh: what dish and drink tonight?
Quilt is Mr. Confused; he expected a sword not a word
A blade, but not one wrapped in a scabbard of sarcasm.
He waited, heart in mouth, staring at an invisible chasm.
Not used to the sound of Silence, even as a daily anthem.
He had stayed out for the night hoping Absence
Would lure Love out of her – via the Jealousy route.
Misery now says this strategy was far from good
He wonders: why is love at first fight so easily misunderstood?