In soft voice
The floor on the dining room sounds under my gait,
warm even after inhabiting it a whole day;
I follow the hasted pace of your feet towards the bedroom
imagining you a body anxious of my body.
It's hard for me to speak in this silence of library
but I need to tell you that I love you, at least in soft voice,
and cross the line that draws the middle of the bed
until sinking the head in the hole of your shoulder.
Outdoors, the birds destroy the night beak by beak
while in the bath tub drops fall a thousand drops per minute,
two doors before getting to you
I shiver thinking on your warm legs.
The first rays of morning get in
through the lines of the Persian curtains that were half-closed,
When I get up Sunday will have gone through slowly,
the brown wood will still be moisted
under the white towel
And you, wearing a brand new satisfaction,
are going to ask me if I want milk and coffee.
© Roxana Torres Neira
Roxana Torres Neira is from Argentina.
Arts and expression + Poetry