Waiting

How many times did you lay your head on my pillow Wishing it was night already – dismissing the sunbeam and inviting the dusky glow while the river still walked steady, How many times did you lean on the window’s frame Probing the crowd for a clue, covered like an angel lacking our mortal’s shame, with a gown dyed with the sunset hue… No, do not count the number of mornings we lost, One Fingertip, two fingertips, Just recall that one day your bosom will host A bruise from my eager lips… Do you tremble? Then let your hair fade like a cascade falling from your ageless head, Beauty is born to command and cannot be unmade: Night arrived, the day is dead.