The fingers of a dying sun reach through my blinds
and find me
Absorbed by thoughts of you

Shafts of sleepy light **** me
gold seeps in and marks my cheek
I wish it were you
Caressing my back and brushing my jaw and stretching across my bed

But it is not.
So for now I contend with the touch of a dipping sun
gradually swallowed by a jealous horizon.