Ken’s Confession is My Own

Without her,
My mojodojocasahouse
Is not a home.
Just a horseless hovel
Where male failings
Become so self-evident.
An imprint
Of a thing that once was,
But is now no longer.
How I long for her return
To supplant the ghost
That lingers in her wake;
To hear her say,
“My love,
You are Kenough.”