In the wee small hours of the morning—
I writhe in my calm travail amid the sheets,
Memories of you, utterly shortcoming;
Feel no amorous stroke of your heartbeat.
Let me coil my finger in your long locks,
Let me caress your tender rosy-pink cheek—
As both of our feet and toes interlock;
You, my beloved, the utmost unique.
Yet, I gaze over my shoulder nearby…
You’re not there…incandescently smiling.
Why did you have to leave, and say goodbye?
Your beauty, wit, charm is quite beguiling.
In this hour in the morning, wee and small.
That is the time I miss you most, of all.