Stay
I've gotten used to
your dreaming mutter in my bed
and waking to your scent
as the morning holds sway
I've gotten used to
your voice, the meter
and measure of words
and the volume of what you don't say
I've gotten used to
your jeans on my floor
and your feet
in my lap at the end of the day
I've gotten used to
hope everything, expect nothing -
as is my style, but because I dare wish it,
I'll ask, "Will you stay?"
Copyright © Barb Black | Year Posted 2008
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