the air this morning is as rough
as the pavement on my skin,
and you're gone
swallowed up somewhere inside it.
i slept last night
like i was going to die
under this soft quilted anguish
salted and heavy with breath.
i know what it means
when your eyes shift up
to that corner where the ceiling
meets the wall;
your thoughts are smooth
between my teeth,
and somehow
i can't stop smiling.
there's a bittersweet figment
of laughter
rising from my core where the light
drenches us to give away
all the flaws that never mattered in the beginning,
but your eyes will bring me to silence,
and i'll sleep alone tonight
knowing that voice replaces presence
but only for a while.
you'll kiss me goodbye
and cradle my head into your shoulder
for a moment
before you hesitate through the door.
i slept last night
like i was going to die,
nevermind the clock
i'll do it myself.
i'll leave this town tomorrow
with your heart,
that is,
i stole it from you
when you left last night
to keep me from sounding alone
when i whisper in my sleep.