Portraits left behind (the table in the foyer)

The pale manner in which you move
Tempts me to sing along and make orbit.
It's not as if I have a choice,
It's not as if you care.

The simple way in which you sore
Above the ground and give nothing
Leaves me wanting more.
It leaves me wanting more.

And I proudly wear your tears
On a chain around my neck.
Memory of the night you left me
Keeps me cozy in my fears.

The rude manner in which you left
Creeps me out, makes me want your
Scent in the room, sense before the storm.
I'm not overanxious, just pressured.

Meandering, I pray that the snow outside
And the reign on the table in the foyer
Finally cover my sadness, dull the borders.
I'm not a simple man, you see, not simple at all.

Alas, it's all a game that my brother and I play,
Mixing words with drinks, saving others,
Creating genesis from swagger and sway.
It's not as if you care or bother.

This is the time to stop,
The moment to let go.
These are the days of the portraits
That were left behind.