I call your name softly in the night, but hear no reply.

I am sure this is your room, your door.

I hear no sound of breathing ‑ perhaps you lie catching your breath,

trying not to be heard.

I’m sure this is your room; we came here in daylight with companions, and watchers.

Now, unwatched, I have come to you alone,

hoping to touch, to hold, to caress…

but I hear no reply.

I was sure this was your room

and yet in the distance I hear quiet laughter,

private secrets bathed in the comfort of laughter.

I start at the sound; my feelings confuse me

Is that your voice, your laughter?

Someone else is whispering your name, softly, in the night.

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