When I go to bed,
I do it for you.
I apologise that it’s later than it should be,
I take my medicine
And brush my teeth
And water the plants
All for you.
When I put clean sheets on the bed
I’m thinking of you
And on the rare occasion I have company here,
I make love
Because you wanted me to love.
I sail my boat, and ride my bike,
I walk the hills,
And sleep beneath the stars
All because I think
I might please you.
But what is it you really want of me
My lovely?
My dear sweet wife,
My life, my joy
And my torment?
You never did say,
———————
Except that you wanted me
To love,
And be happy.
And all the rest
Is my reading between those scant few lines.
And no one’s opinion counts for toffee
Because no one mattered but you
And me,
That shared this bed,
This life,
This torment,
And this joy.
And now it’s all mine,
And all the world can spin,
And I’ll just go to bed,
And do it
For you.
I feel ill equipped to even comment. I feel like a voyeur into a bittersweet pathos, witnessing a profound and sweeping love.
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It’s just what was.
And what’s left.
You’re not ill equipped, but I am over sharing.
Thank you,
S.
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Haha. Maybe neither of us are any of those things! I’m not ill-equipped, and you’re definitely not oversharing, ’cause I’m not sure if one CAN overshare a beautiful poem. It’s just sharing, right?
So…thank you for sharing. 🙂
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