For the Spurned (upon my death)

I suppose there are too few of them
to pass the hours, as I have, pondering
reflections in the pool. Make no mistake,
if I am not still captivated there,

I must by now be unhandsomely dead,
henceforth unlikely to hear diminished,
again and again, what’s been said before.
Nor to watch you swiftly languish

into a newly meaningless life.
I would not haunt you if I could;
but if I could and would, I should be
offended to find you pawing

every itch that comes along,
with the flower barely risen
from my grave. I have prepared
an empathetic suitor to call:

Though he was once a youthful nemesis,
you cannot help but call him back.
His voice, as I understand,
could be mistaken for mine.

He even has some similar lines
(though not as beautiful, for sure) and is,
perhaps, a little more attentive,
a better listener than I could care to be.

But most importantly, it’s me
he always tried (in vain) to love;
so now you both may keep my legacy,
Dear, while chastely undisturbed.