Getting Ready For The Time Without You

The day is already dressing itself in your sleepy window
when I first catch sight of you this side of eight hours.

I have the chance to scan your face in more detail than you’d ever condone.
I start with your eyelids as they’re newest to me.

I move on to your mouth and don’t move on.
All I am is there.
I wish your lips a silent goodbye and wonder for how long they’ll miss me.

Somewhere I know this is the start of my last day in your world.
I feel already my tongue is too heavy to speak.
I have no idea the thrust all this will have on me
nor how long this will stay with me.
For all the times I’ve said it, only this morning does it really hit me:
I love this girl - she’s my life.

I’m starting to wonder now if actually you’re awake?
Dreading starting this day.

Years later I’ll come to believe the words you’ll tell me in a few hours:
“I love you David, but not the way you want me to.”
Years later I’ll be mostly crying for what I no longer have
than being happy for having it to lose.

For now the next five minutes
before the worst day descends
is slipping by so fast.

I want to cry now, without the delay,
right into your soft hair.
But this hasn’t happened yet.
So I’ll try to breath more quietly ‘cause I see you stir and
I don’t want to wake you before you’re ready.