Though the Summer sun No longer muffles its rays With trees, but is full with Daytime, I will let you sleep.
Though the cat is playing With your feet under the Cover to annoy them into the Kitchen, I will let you sleep,
And feed her myself. I'll keep the news on low; Only be whispered to of the Deaths and tragedies we've Slept through.
And if my every dream as of Lately has been true; that You miss the freedom of an empty Bed when I'm there; The room for another it creates,
I will let you sleep. I will close every door of the house Between us, hide my pain In my hands and feel it run Like the last of our sand between My fingers.
I will not wake you up with A single sigh, snuffle or drop of Tear on this floor that We walked in our days of love. I will suffer for us alone. And let you sleep.
I am making you toast. White bread, thick and moist, crisps and darkens, A smell of crumbs and comfort wafts around the room. The butter curls about the knife Soft and oily, there is some on my finger And I lick it off. The toast is ready, it jumps from the toaster, And I start to spread, butter sinking in with a satisfied sigh. And here you are, with your arms around my waist, Your warm breath in my ear, trying to steal a piece too early. I catch your fingers in my oily own And you put them to your mouth. What do you want, hungry mister? Me or the toast?
I saw everything from A to Z, love, hate, honesty, deception, intelligence, dreams, reality, wantonness, kindness, sunshine, smiles, laughter, angst, calm, anxiety, piety, my reflection, unborn children & a million other things I tell you I witnessed in her pretty-eyes.