The approaching hour

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