I am fetal curled, alone
in this too-big bed,
my mind wandering into
the museum of that morning:

The sunrise peeked through the blinds
light hop-scotching across
the freckles on your shoulder blades
and I wanted you to wake up
but didn’t want to wake you
hoped the bouncing beams
would warm you to life

You slept soundly
so I just lied there, memorizing
the pattern of your beard
the shape of your ear
the curve of your lips

And now on this morning
I stare out my window, knowing
you are some five thousand miles away
but we still sleep beneath the same blanket
of sky