It's not yet time
to see you again,
to hear your voice-
I could call out
for you,
And you would hear me
in the darkness,
feel me as I fumble about
seeking your skin,
but I know
the midnight hour
has not yet called
with it's resounding
chime, its dark toll.
Today has not yet
threaded into tomorrow-
the dusk
has just settled into
this carpet,
thick and lush,
of my night.
I'll tend this garden
Of Trilliums
and Gardenia
alone, by the light
of the moon
until at length,
the dawn pierces me
and you see me
whole,
the way I want
your eyes to see me.
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