Your Bedside

As I ran to your bedside,
With its impervious white comforter
And air-chilled grey pillows,
I wanted to stay there forever
And watch its sheets crease,
Its blankets bend and fold
Or perhaps lie flat, untouched,
Breathe in that freshly-laundered vapor
Then wait for earthier smells,
See it unmade, unkempt, a chaos,
Then walk in and find it like new,
Touch it and feel a faint warmth
Or a cool, misty dampness,
Hear the quiet rustling of shifting layers
And the silence of their perfect order,
But when I ran to your bedside,
All I found was sterile new sheets,
And yellowing, dank pillows.
There is a note on the nightstand,
But I do not think you wrote it,
Because the windows shudder too loudly,
And the trees scratch the bright glass
While a light comes on in the hall
As I sit down on the matted carpet,
Wondering what happened at your bedside.




Poetry by MiHa
Read 699 times
Written on 2009-02-03 at 06:31

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