Sounds

It’s the sounds I miss.
The sure metallic scrape
Of her key
Opening the lock
On the kitchen door.
The gentle scuffing
Of her shoes on the tile
Floor.

I miss the shuffle

Of her purse settling

In a chair by the table.

The light-hearted hum
Of a song
Only she hears.

I miss the slow

Warm sound

Of her brush
Swimming through
The river of her long hair.
Of her body moving
Against fresh cotton
Bed sheets.

I miss the rhythmic sound
Of her deep-sleep breath.
The sound of her arms
Her legs moving naturally
Against the blanket.
The soft click
At the back of her throat
As she dreams of mystery
And marvel.

I miss the sound

Of her easy
Morning yawn
And the wakening move
Of her body
Stretching
In the golden morning
Light
Flooding our window.

I miss the sounds.