…whispers your name

This winter night has left a trace upon my skin
the touch of long familiar dreams
we have crossed the threshold
and music drifts in on the moonlight
my heart is released to the heavens
and belongs to no-one else
but now we must turn from each other
towards the beckoning door
the ghost of your touch upon my shoulder lingers
I awaken alone listening to the hours slip away
grey mourning skies magnify my pain
somewhere the earth whispers your name
and a day must always end now
with the brush stroke of your smile
© Ann Bagnall