The pitter patter of the British weather smacks against the sightly cracked window.
I feel the rain humidifying the air and engulfing my room like a stormy monsoon.
My left arms dead from where you lay your head.
In bed with you, i'm at the most tranquil place I can be.
I watch you as you sleep, only wishing I could wake you for a kiss.
I'm still staring, smiling, as time passes.
My urge is too much.
I lean for your nose, placing my lips softly against your skin.
As you politely wake I stare at your perfectly blue eyes.
I whisper to you. I tell you you are beautiful.
This moment is there forever on my mind, even though physically you're not a part of me no more.
Isn't it funny how we remember such trivial things?
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
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