I don't imagine I am
The most worthy of audiences -  
But you my darling,
You tread with such delicate feet
That I swear those footsteps were made to kiss
Those aching, whispering boards.

I'd tear my own script
Scatter the blank, useless pulp
Into every dark corner of that empty stage.
And I promise you, darling,
In a heavily silent theatre,
Paper peeling from the walls
In the daylight of a forgotten matinee
I'd carefully take my place amongst the rows of empty seats
And wait, for the sound of your feet.