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.