I can see the anguish in your eyes and
taste it on your lips,
when you are looking at me
in that way
while we are in bed and I
hold you close.
Your touch speaks of sorrow, of
loss and unutterable pain and of
all the opportunities that you have
let slip through your slender fingers.
When I press my ear to your
I can hear not only the
continuous pulse of your
palpitating heart, but also
the echoing of memories and of
guilt which will not leave you alone.
You are possessed by the demon of the past.
I wish that you would be here
with me in this moment,
but I know that you are
a million miles away
and your mind is not on my
naked skin pressed against yours
(although that is where mine is)
and I wish you would
just come home and
come to bed.