naegling
09-23-2005, 07:28 AM
Old Torn Nightie
If I had known in that hour, minute;
at that second,
what I know now;
I would have held you as you woke;
traced my finger from your hairline
along your nose.
I would have kissed your mouth;
gently bit your lip;
run my fingertips, teasing,
tickling down your spine.
We would have missed our trains.
Now this house feels cold.
Our children slumber, swollen eyed;
moonlight blurs pictures on stairs,
plays on the mocking clock;
the dishes piled about the sink,
clothing heaped by the washing-machine;
the cat napping on the sofa, by your feet.
Fitfully you sleep,
in your old torn nightie;
occasionally dreaming,
where these words
are just thoughts,
with my voice.
If I had known in that hour, minute;
at that second,
what I know now;
I would have held you as you woke;
traced my finger from your hairline
along your nose.
I would have kissed your mouth;
gently bit your lip;
run my fingertips, teasing,
tickling down your spine.
We would have missed our trains.
Now this house feels cold.
Our children slumber, swollen eyed;
moonlight blurs pictures on stairs,
plays on the mocking clock;
the dishes piled about the sink,
clothing heaped by the washing-machine;
the cat napping on the sofa, by your feet.
Fitfully you sleep,
in your old torn nightie;
occasionally dreaming,
where these words
are just thoughts,
with my voice.