Sometimes I stay awake in the early mornings
Listening to the shower of sound that comes from the wind tossing through the trees
And wish that at this hour, other things kept my company
The way memories do

Of your hand on my hip, bunching my pajamas in the ball of your fist
Taking a deep breath
And finally
Moving away
With your breath still warm on my lips
Murmuring in tired song about your intentions
About our choices

"What are we going to do?"
"Nothing."