And I forgive him

At the end of a tedious evening
when he has drunk
and talked animatedly
(while I have sipped my wine
and perhaps scanned a few faces),
he looks across the room
with eyes that
want to go home with me.

And I forgive him
for leaving me to watch
the social two-step
which I think he
is a part of.

Driving home, he pours out
the day's details of this and that
of 'them' and 'him' and 'I'
(while I tune up the radio
and perhaps sing to drown his voice),
he sighs, midst incomplete feelings,
as if to say
only I can complete them.

And I forgive him
for living in a world
so different from mine
a world only
he belongs to.

He changes into his nightclothes
and as he walks
to the bedroom
(where we will read
and perhaps surf channels),
he says "Come on"
in a voice that
would be alone without me.

And I forgive him
for allowing me to think
through the day
what an unromantic
fool he is.