The last 3 letters of the spring

This is a very serious poem with no hidden meaning
I think it happened when you left the table while I was still eating
I think—it’s happening again
what has already happened when
I kept reaching for nothing
I stopped kissing lightly
the lips that weren’t kissed but hunted 

I joined forces with the foes, all friends of yours
They all agreed—the fool is dancing for the king, not vice versa, unless he’s dunning
You can’t pretend there is no punning
The fool is always dancing for the king!
There is no lion
You won’t be roaring 
until you get to scream out of your depth:
You are just a poem
You are just a poem
You are just a poem now

You will be missed when you stop trying—I know they all despised that greedy pig
You can’t pretend there is no punning!
Unless he’s funning you or them or me: the unbearable darkness of staying loyal
I think—it’s happening again
what has already happened when 
I called on GOD for ships to sail—the last one seen has shipwrecked:
How have you been? 
Fine.
Slept alright? mostly, yeah…
But yk, you weren’t there…marking your territory, luring the sailors onto the rocks
like a drowning siren, I can’t sing anything anymore
It must have sailed 
The spellwork must have failed

I am smiling and terrified…I can’t write anything anymore
I think it happened when you left the table
while I was still there, frozen, in the ducking stool from Ikea, I always hated that chair

In the elevator, 4th floor, you said you were happy—there was no lion roaring 

I know you always despised me for asking
I pretty much knew it was over after that