I dawn thoughts of you
like a gossamer robe
when you're gone.

Coffee in one hand, boxers
and a stained white T-shirt
underneath. A scraggly beard.

At least I have the robe.

It protects me
as I venture out
for the newspaper

from the sirocco
of absence, worry
and loneliness.

I hug my robe close.

Black clouds hurl
tiny shards of glass
when you're gone.

Paper tears under armpit,
concerned coffee sloshes,
hair blows and grease escapes

even after I'm back inside.

At least I have my robe.