The whipped cream can stands alone.
Where are the amber eyes that,
With such desire, stare,
Begging with dignity
For even just a small taste of its
Divine delight?
The corner, clean of dust
Where the furry black body
Curls up in happiness and security,
Gapes emptily, no sighs of contentment
Making themselves heard.
Empty, empty, all echoes too emptily.
No barking
No singing
No sounds of joy.
Even the walls wait for the return of love.
