The sound of her voice when
she finally calls.
the sound of the night as it
giggles and falls.

the sight for these eyes that are
bloodshot and sore;  
the sight of her eyes, saying
lonely no more, that

hold me with gazes across
any space, that trace this old face,
holding smiles in their place.
the holding she does with her arms

as I drift into slumber and sleep,
can both cradle and lift any man's
manly heart needing comfort and
rest. they keep any secret and

stand any test. I am drunk on her
skin, I am high on her smell. I am
demon in Heaven, she's angel in
Hell.

now fallen has night, and it fell on
its head. its lack of awareness  
envelopes our bed.
drifting off first, as so often I do.

it's the day's final words:
-I love you.
-I love *you.