When it is morning and the open window
reveals an empty bed, the light coming
through the blinds that went unclosed,
I can see your shadow and stumble out
into the living room. It is an open space
that only your gently lilting body could fill.

I stand cold, open the drapes, allow a harsh intrusion
to the dark my eyes found comfort in, but I
must look, and find my way to the kitchen;
put on a pot of tea, then grab a biscut.
It is a hunger I struggle with, longing
for a cigarette to get lost and forget

about you, my eyes burning when I rise
from the dreams where we didn’t compromise.