She wakes, with hot emotion streaming
warm and wet, across one rosy cheek.
Slowly reason rises, tears subside,
for many times does bitter obligation
steal joy away to pour its stream of sand
carelessly through those indifferent hands.
Her sunrise aches to draw one curtain closed,
to veil the room in softened honey light,
to listen for the peals of morning laughter.
His jacket slung aside in playful haste,
entwined bodies dancing, kindling kisses,
pleasure writhing, wreathed in sweet delight.
She breathes, her hot emotion waning,
anger draining, quiet acceptance rising.
So many days,
so many very ordinary days
to wait and live and work and sleep,
and give way to someone else,
to wake at last and find
a gift unwrapped.
Their stolen, perfect day.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.