I adore the evening still,
Though not as dark as it used to,
Nor as dark as her eyes.
I guess...the shadow of the world has forgotten me.
And I have no stars for her.

Well, she's asleep now.
Novels, stuck in her favorite pages.
Her bed longs for her sweet weight just as I.
And the weak rain outside was a long-playing record.

The playful wind dodges her hair,
As if to search for new strength
In the coming dawn of her waking.
And my hesitant arms drifted elsewhere with them,
To look for the finest of roses,
So that in the morning she may be reminded
Of the touches I long to give.

Such is the beauty of this night-
Somewhere she's asleep and somehow
I think of her.

And so,
I am writing these verses now,
Before I end them...
...with 'I love her'.

© 2010 J.S.P.