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by Elena  Klein

The bed is yours.
I'm saving it for you.
I keep it warm.
I wash the sheets
and pillowslips.

The pillow misses you.
I comfort it;
I whisper to it.

And my breath
is yours as it
always has been;
my pulse, our pulse-
beat to beat.

I leave your bed
and wade dark waters
throughout the house.
I returned to find you
to surprise you, half asleep,
waiting there for me.

A childish game I play
and never win.

Poem ID: 55995   Poem Posted: 1/29/2001
Viewed: 15253  Voted On: 313  E-mailed: 32  Commented On: 2
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Copyright , , Elena Klein  all rights reserved by the author.
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