Slow and gentle torture

This hand has strayed over many a page Desperate, disparate verse to uncage But the hand that virtuously attempts to write Gives out under memories of hips it held While thrusting in the night and does revive The moment, despite the mental fight. Ask yourself, lover, please define Why tortured past you feel yet not feel mine; A blankness in those eyes, an unseen wall To shield off that last momentous fall. Think hard when you announce this shallow case, This hand has tasted death and life abased. Slow and gentle torture this hand will reap; The kind that eats quietly into sleep. What seeds were sewn for this to be the lot Of the hand that holds your soul, as you plot? Were they seeds of passion or of hate? Acceptance is the only choice of late. Up the step, eyes averted elsewhere, Delicately,deliberately, they roam: Quickly taking all in, then denying, Breaking with their brief glance , all they own. Glittering, Twinkling, Merciless but quiescent, A veritable sanctuary to vengeance. Gently, gently, fearing to move, My hand still stroking the ghost of my love, Your soul, with it's hand around my throat. For all my questions I've had rejections, Ridiculed for my suggested solutions, Your soul, from mine, so remote. As I lean over the gate, you're truly gone. The hand drops the pen;the mind, the song And in an empty vacuum I'm left, Devoid of you, totally bereft. Unable to reach out or call. Without you, alone, where withal No you, no life, no scents to savour, The next few moments pure exquisite torture. A numb thing, a charade stumbles on, Searching for the hope I begged you for; Cannot find as you did not provide. No change of fate, no turning tide.