Sadness arrives like a slamming door,

in fits and starts,

she always says hello.

She wraps herself around you

like a silken shawl,

and wipes your brow

with rose water,

and melancholy.

The dog sleeps

by the sunlight.

Sadness is a sultry lover,

slow and unsure,

She leaves like a whisper,

becomes a rippling shadow,

she goes where she wishes,

through the crack in the windowsill,

the keyhole in the door.

She never says goodbye,

she leaves the sting of her kiss,

on  your cheek.

The thing about her,

good friend,

is that she is just a mystical gypsy,

restless and afraid,

she never stays for dinner,

or wants to talk.

And then, you notice

she is gone,

you can see beyond her,

out of the shadows,

the dog wags her tail again,

you wonder when on earth

she left.