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| Shopie Calle, Les Dormeurs |
Wrapped in the sheets
I follow with my fingers the shape of the wrinkles
drawing the traces of your missing body.
In this bed of the size of two oceans
something is missing...
your bones lay in other shores,
your smell imprinted in some other's pillow,
only time traveling I may be able to reach your warm.
I miss your flemish hands around my waist...
cold feet and giggling good nights...
your smile under the covers...
our fingers touching
Tonight the sound of the wind on my window
will put me to sleep
I listen, then I feel your fingers running down my spine,
as real as the branches caressed by the wind
singing a loving song.
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