She’s here with me, as though she’d always be,
the night before her life goes on.
Just a few more moments here with me,
It’s four a.m., and soon it'll be dawn.
Tomorrow she’ll be gone again,
off to valleys and professors,
leaving me to take the strain,
and work of “Hi, how are you?” chores.
Beneath her hair, in my shirt fold,
there’s a gold bra clasp reflecting moonlight.
Somewhere between cotton and gold,
we’re in my bed, one more last night.
          Now every second I am nearer
          to being a boy in her rear mirror.