Oceanside villa’s twin benches sit empty,
waiting inside a frame the color of white
picket fence that never was for me.

I brought the picture home the day
he handed me the office gift and wrote,
“You can make your house a home.”

My hollow heart like empty seats;
years now since his smile set on me
like resplendent California sunset.

I speak to perfect picture with a view,
pretend to sit on bayside bench and
watch the sun sink below the hills.

“Should he ever find his way,”
I say, “into your seaside hideaway,
share your scent of ocean breeze…

Let him sit, enjoy the sights; then
whisper that my house, however empty,
is a home because of him, because of you.”