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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.