In the morning
you touch me—
a gentle caress
across my cheek
or over my hair—
while I lay
pretending to sleep
waiting for this
soft goodbye.

During the day
you call me—
kind words
and idle chatter—
while I work
in the house
hoping that you
will think of me.

In the evening
you return to me
I gauge your mood
and I wonder
will you share
will you listen
will you be kind
will you let me
reach out to you?

Why is it
you love me
so much from afar—
(often I wake
to find my hand
clutched in yours
as if you need
my protection)
but you show
so little when I’m near?

Don’t you know
I need your love
up close,
where I can see it
where I can smell it
so I know it
to be true
and not such
a bother to you?

Don’t you know
that it hurts?