much is the sadness of my situation
that i might wipe salty tears away
and wait, no pray, for a moment
of release with my beloved
time is the enemy
the hands of this damned clock
they move with silent, deliberate motion
and yet the time does not pass
and empty are my arms
as empty as the bed which waits behind me
and my skin, it remembers the hands
that once led me to forget
at the very least, i breathe a prayer
that he should remember me kindly
and that in his own quiet moments
he might wipe away a tear or two
