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.
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.
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