Ordinary Night

Peycho Kanev

I wake up in the night and look at you
while you sleep;
if you can paint you will be a master,
but now you are the masterpiece.
I am watching your back
with its baby wrinkles
and that thing that you call hair and I call
fire,
how it falls down on your white neck-line.
And you lay silent in the white sheets,
I imagine them yellow,
my favorite color,
(Van Gogh’s too),
you breathe slowly and lightly like a swan on the lake,
and I count all of your heart beats;
I count 537 and
fell asleep.

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please,
don’t wake up.