Come to the window, my sweet,
Leave your tiny paw-prints for me.
Press your dimpled fingers to the pane,
Send your miss-you kisses to me when
You watch. Now I’m the one who goes.
Only I know the years will hold
An age of pushing away while you fold in
When time has eaten your fingerprints,
Polished away even the smudges,
And your soft cheeks grow rough with stubble;
When the novel shine is a shadow of memory in your eyes
And your hand engulfs mine.
If then one day you still take my hand
It will be with the thoughtlessness of a man.
