a thousand kisses

And when you wake

from ill-sought sleep,

from the sport of

unbidden dreams,

I would be there

to sing you

the anaesthesia of love.

But I am not

and the songs you hear

are the garnish of commotion

in the cloak of pain.

I would I were

the bringer of release,

the keys to the prison

that holds you now,

but I bring only

a thousand kisses

and a thousand beyond

to make your sentence lighter.

I would kiss your fingertips

Your brow, your eyes,

your smile, your lips.

I would paint your breath

with kisses

as the world returns

and have you know

that all I have

yearns

to brush you gentle

home.