Saturday Morning

Lying close enough to touch you in the night

Inches of mattress make for miles to reach

When you sleep with your back turned to me.

Flat on my back, I watch the ceiling fan turn.

I keep looking over hoping you'll reach for me.

Your breathing never changes; you never stir.

I turn and look over you at the bedside clock

The minutes drag by and I sigh deeply

I watch the rise and fall of your breathing.

Tears fill my eyes and I bury my face

In case my whimpers cause you to awaken.

I bite my lip and tell myself, "You can't cry."

I'm awake long before your alarm rings.

I sit up and look back at you and I smile.

While inside, I'm crying, wanting to touch you.

I reach out and you slip out of the covers.

My hand falls and so does my first tears.

I let myself cry a bit while you shower.

I make up the bed and breathe you in.

We meet at the door and I swallow my words.

You say good-bye, hug me, and kiss my cheek,

Leaving my lips, like my heart, wanting only you.