i find echoes of your existence
in ragged coffeehaus and empty wine bottles
and i swear i can almost taste your sweat
when i drive home
             down university to southgate.

it's easier to pretend during the daylight hours
but at two in the morning
                                             when the stars kiss my eyes
i swear it's you
                          and no matter how many times
                          i wash my blanket
i hear you call my name
                                          from the folds of its fabric.