UNTITLED
The simple joy of waking up in bed,
sensing him leaving in silent steps,
feeling the warmth where he curled,
hearing him switching on the kettle,
gathering cups of best bone china,
smelling the coffee he deftly served
as he softly whistled rise and shine,
is what I miss the most. Now I breathe
in laboured chaos, turbulence inside
ravaging my lungs, cursing, doubting
why the world should go on turning,
remembering how we kissed and hugged
others on that luxury cruise, scented air
in our noses, on our skin, blissfully sighing,
dancing until we’re exhausted. That was
two weeks ago, when he was eighty-three.
My nurse sheds a tear, listening, her
gloved hands adjusting my ventilator.
(Image: “The Cruising Edition Of The Creepiest, Most Haunted Ships At Sea“, Cruise.co.uk)
Voices under the Sun 陽光下的聲音 