You Left

You left this morning.
Before the glint of dawn drew me back to consciousness.
You were gone long before the morning doves
Began their morning routines and the owls
Concluded their midnight serenades.
I woke to a chill at my back that reminded me
Of the missing warmth you’d shared whenever you’re near.
Grabbing the quilt your grandmother had sewed years ago
And pulling it over my head, I tried to combat the cold, to no avail.
But then again, I didn’t expect any relief from the cover,
Knowing the chill was from loneliness rather than crisp morning air.
Still, I kept my head submerged beneath the layers of sheets and quilt,
Intent on thinking you back into bed with me.
Back into the sunken mattress shaped perfectly
To our two bodies folded in on one another.
Back under those same bamboo sheets, now my refuge,
Where we’d shared our thoughts, our plans, ourselves,
Among moments of passion and need. Need. I needed you.
I tightened my eyes, begging them to send me back to sleep.
There was nothing for them to see today.
You left this morning.


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