Sometimes when I rise,
trains clatter by,
as dawn becomes less distant.
I stare through misty windows,
to the forest that lays at the foot of my garden,
knowing there is silence,
but still hearing the far away melody of your gentle breath,
the trembling trains that creep past,
trying desperately not to wake you.
Your sheets are dark blue.
Mine are white,
but when I awake,
I’m always surprised by their brightness,
having spent the night in a different bed.
Daydreaming at night,
finding myself beside you,
for no other reason than to close my eyes,
and feel your arms close around me.
