at night it's
the hardest
I turn to
your side and
trace the dent your
form would have made
sleeping here for
weeks, your hand
so sweet and heavy
on my hip
chest rising and
falling all
fluttering eyes and
dark hair.

at night it's
the quietest
the fan slowly whirring
as the dark deepens
and I can't
hold out any
longer and fade
only to wake up
confused because
you're still
not
here.