Deficit demise

You said you need me,
I can see you don’t.
A week has gone by,
you haven’t mourned.
Loss, absence, bereavement.
Grief for a ‘loved’ one gone.
No sign of remorse,
not a hint at fidelity,
in the bat of an eyelid,
all longings are quenched.
It doesn't take long,
shorter than this song,
another hand in a jiffy,
leashed to your web.