Take them away to a nights adventure.
Sometimes this feels like a hotel room,
It’s not mine, it’s yours,
You make that clear -
Clothes are yours,
and remenants of days gone by,
All strwen across the floor.
Watching you walk to the bathroom, half naked,
except for your underwear.
That homely feel of comfort in a foreign place
reminds me more and more
of hotal rooms,
As if each evening were a holiday,
a holiday at home,
But it’s your home and the climates warm,
Turn the light, shut the door,
And two books open
Side by side,
you’ve got your sleep to come,
I’ll stare out the window, thinking, life.
Your fan is the breeze of the medieranean, comfort,
Still dressed, rolled up sleeves,
It’s quiet I seek, not chatter,
Just enough hours to read
till the middle of the night frightens dawn awake
The next days light.
The shadows creep with comfort
round the light about the bed,
and honesty is rolled in thought.
That is silence, sitting,
Sitting between ease.
Slumber waits like docked ships waiting for sailors.
