A hundred empty faces

I see you in a hundred faces every day,
But they don't look at me the way you do.
The strength of their forms beckons you to mind,
But turns without that gentleness you alone offer me.

In the picture on the mantle, we are still and unalive.
That was so long ago; so many mornings I have woken alone.
The mailbox is full again of advertisements.
I search for you and tears smear the empty ink.

Please come home to leave no more alone,
To quiet me with your love again.
Please come home and keep me by your side,
To hold me through the night and wake with me each morning.