One Day If I Could Spend the Night
One day, perhaps if I could spend the night,
I would stack your hearth with firewood,
and we would sit together on your couch,
you, your feet tucked under you,
your head against my chest,
while I would hold you close
and breathe that faint and lovely fragrance of your hair.
And we could dine on pizza and red wine,
in the softly glowing firelight.
One day, perhaps, if I could spend the night.
One day, perhaps if I could spend the night,
there would be no haste,
no urgency in either of our lives,
and we could have another glass of wine,
while speaking soberly
of matters sombre,
if we felt that way inclined.
Or,
we would have that other glass of wine and laugh at matters impolite.
One day, perhaps, if I could spend the night.
One day, perhaps if I could spend the night,
when we were ready we would go to bed
and kiss
and make unhurried love.
Or,
equally unhurried, we would not.
And we would listen to the wind and rain
and kiss and make unhurried love again.
Or,
equally unhurried, we would not.
Then we would sleep,
egg and spoon together.
With each of us at peace.
And everything, in both our worlds, would be just right.
One day,
perhaps,
if I could spend the night.
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