When I woke
                      you were gone.

A bowl in the pillow
where your head   slept,

   six     hours
   pouring what passes for coffee
these days.

In a text
you told me

you burnt your hand,
     showed me

     a pomegranate splash that danced
between your fingers.
     Ouch, it still hurts you know...

Didn't hear you come in,
                            silent angel

but your perfume
   lingers like a   delicious poison
  
and I notice flowers
   are starting to crumble
as snowballs     on our window.

   No mirror
   so I cannot see

whether you've  left
     a cherry   lipstick birthmark

on my cheek
   or a note which says
didn't want to wake you!

Got this feeling,
   jet lag maybe

   but I haven't     moved,
haven't   flown     anywhere.

I flump my arm
   into the blank     space
where your   body ought to be.