September 16, 2008
I want to sit
on the edge of your bed
and leaf through one of your books
I want to ask you
the names of your friends
in the photograph
I want to stare
at your picture of London
and feel the night you captured
I want to lie back
and look at the ceiling
as the sun angles up
I want to reach over
and grasp the beads that you bought
at the Vatican
And then you will come in
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