he wont be there in the morning
i will turn to my right
& his sweetness won't infect me
inside and out he is warm
his plump lips pursed
he snores but denies it
he has infected me
my mom studied microbiology
she doesn't know how to fix me

he wont be there in the afternoons
crisp leaves crunching under toes
hands in another's pocket
i always forget my mittens
head on a different shoulder
eyes on a different lake
i bet that lake is prettier than ours
my dad studied geography
but he never told me
this lake is melting

he wont be there in the evenings
bundled in sweaters and blankets
a pizza between us both
another shoulder to drool on
your eyes looked different
in the light of each dark night
my brother he's been labeled an artist
but he couldn't draw up
dark eyes like yours