I always feel loneliest when I wake up—
when I reach into the matted darkness,
and feel only the cold side of the bed.
Weren’t you here just a moment ago?
I must have been dreaming of you again,
though for now my memory is merciful.
I remember passing time in a borrowed bed.
I would have stayed in that room forever,
tracing fingerprint tessellations in your skin.
Unfortunately things didn’t work out that way,
but you’re still out there, somewhere,
and it’s not too late for you
to find your way home.
