When you were gone,
I started with the pillows;
Two for the the head,
one for between the knees
and one to hug.
Sometimes, I'd place one behind me,
as if you were there,
was that wrong?
It was my love you took,
and never asked permission to take;
Funny how one misses the body
as well as the feelings -
as well as the arms and legs,
the kind of love
one cannot fake.
Now there's no one to
interrupt my writing -
to ask me to pick up something from
the store;
I can fend for myself,
though I dislike dusting,
I can handle everthing else,
the washing, the vacuuming,
or any other chore.
The phone, which used to ring
for you -
Is gathering dust by the computer,
I do not hear it ring.
I'm much to busy to answer anyhow,
I've too much much on my mind,
I just got through cleaning,
I may take an afternoon nap -
Who knows what the
evening may bring?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem