Forgive my bedside manner.
You sleep but I can’t help but stair.
Hoping I can manipulate your dreams with whispers
I could never say to your open eyes.
Kissing your forehead not knowing if it’s well received,
I scoot away from your warmth for a walk of regret.
Rounding the unfamiliar block before the lone drive home.
I roll down my windows in the frost of night
To air out the agony of what must be left behind.
Street light upon an open driveway
An empty space welcomes me home.
With back to bead
The baggage of my numbing eyes
Drips one last poem for prayer….
Don’t wake for me
For I have already left your side
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem