Your hand lies by my waist,

warm, familiar, and beloved to the touch,

and if, just now, you turn and waken, take me in your

drowsy arms and sleep again,

I should not ask

Where are you now?

Where do your eyes see?

And where does your heart lie?

But you do not waken,

and the sense of loss that love can bring

sweeps me down and I lie bared

to terror of the breathing void,

to darkness of a life unshared.

Timidly I cover your hand with mine,

and turn to wait for this to pass.