In expressions on your face
In your eyes of quiet grace
I see it in the patterns that you always trace into my skin
I can see it
In the song upon my lips
In my callous fingertips
I see it in the way the needle always skips the lonely songs at the end
Time is in the bedroom sleeping
Beauty indebted to the tired camera’s eye
Patience in the soldier marching off to war
Evidence of
of this love I’m in
The motion of your hands
In their gentle curt demands
I see it in the way your voice commands the captive presence of an audience
Time is in the bedroom sleeping
Beauty indebted to the tired camera’s eye
Patience in the soldier marching off to war
Evidence of
of this love I’m in
I can see it in the faint and tired evening growing pale
In the painted light that falls across your room on you unveiled
Time is in the bedroom sleeping
Beauty indebted to the tired camera’s eye
Patience in the soldier marching off to war
Evidence of
of this love I’m in