through the looking glass

Infuriated, I slam doors,
unable to think, freezing him out,
refusing to discuss it.

You take a leave of absence
to be with your dying love, holding
fast, refusing even to eat.

What can I learn from you?

You have 35 years, we have ten.
I want twenty-five more
and at least a hundred after that.

What if my love lay dying? I'd wail,
scream, die myself, without a doubt.
I am so sorry for your loss.

Going to be with him now.

I was introduced to a new (to me) form called the Sevenling. Here's the description from The American Poetry Journal:
This was challenging for me to write, and I'm sure it will go through more revisions, but I figured I'd post it now as maybe some of you would like to write one. Please let me know if you do. Good luck!