Sleep

Once, it meant waking up warm in your arms,
Aroused by the smell of your coffee perfume,
The lazy mornings that ended in surprises,
Watching TV series or eating out as well.

Now, it means counting sheep till you sleep,
With a wish for a sleep without end often,
For our days turn too weary to say the least,
This old soul has re-learnt its ancient tirade.

This sullen heart longs for your presence,
The invisible net that could catch my fall,
For the ties that one broke in reckless fury,
Or the gentle promises that were forgotten.

The twilight brings in a taste of your perfume,
And a loneliness that will not go away too soon.