Where did she sleep when her bed never found her?
What corner was she tucked away into I wondered.
How many nights did I lose on my own
just laying there coldly and willing her home.
I've come to accept that I'll never know
so I guess that it's best that I just let it go.
I can't help that I'll always sit around here and wonder
where did she sleep when her bed never found her?
Who does she read when my words cannot woo her?
Who's sonnets and songs steal her away I wonder.
How many poems have I scrolled out without grace
and soiled some sheet just to offer her a page?
I can't pretend that I don't write here full of wonder
who does she read when my words cannot woo her?
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