Hours before I woke this morning, while I was still blind in my bed, undisturbed, you must have thrown
back the blanket from a bed that did not have me in it.
I would like to think you stood naked in front of the
window, protected from sight by the early hour,
no mirage.
But this month is too cold for standing naked; your arms would have prickled into gooseflesh, and there
would have been no time, no need, to pause
before filling the bathroom with steam.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.