Waiting for a knock (original poetry)

And one night he was waiting for words to fall
fingertips to wriggle
lips to sing the melloflous lullabies
heart to beat her name once again.

All the night he bled the memories of separation.
Listened to the falling of leaf even.
Yearned for a knock.
The knock on a door.

Under the blanket of remembrance
he waits for the words to fall.