I will tell you to move the curtains

And also the window

To allow some light and air


Before I will settle to look at your face

And move a hair or two

Or just stroke your cheek


I will be aware of the ticking clock

That has no rewind

And the approaching hour


There will be no words

Nor any gesture or two

The exchange, if at all, will be silent


No tears, no smile

An unmistakable scent, yours,

Will be left floating in the room

The approaching hour

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