It's past midnight now,
Much too late
For me to be up
And about,
For the alarm clock
Will be sounding
In just a few short hours;
I am here alone
And missing you,
And my body aches
With wanting you.
Sleep will not come
This night
And I prowl my house
Looking for any means
Of ridding my mind
Of the sound of your voice
And the feel of my hands
Doing as you direct
Over the telephone line
From a thousand miles away,
But it is no use.
I am soft, and ready,
For a moment
That is not yet ours
And I want to weep
And storm
And cry out to God
To end my torment.
Do you, perhaps, feel
A portion of what I feel?
Or am I alone
In my misery?