Sunday, June 30, 2013


I strayed to your side
of the bed last night.
For a week now I've
only occupied
My half
Of our private square.

I was restless with the heat
And the thrum of the fan
Did not mask the absence
Of your snores.

I felt a little guilty 
stretching out; but
I confess to a certain thrill
As I lay my head
On what should be your pillow.

I am rich with choices
when you are not here.

1 comment:

  1. Fabulous poem. I only take his favorite pillow when he has meandered off to sleep upstairs or fire the kiln. Funny how sinful it feels.