Air.
Breathless between whispers I
say to you, “Don’t go.”
socks hidden underneath covers,
your toes- they barely show.
Valleys and dips, the curve of your back
pulling further away, I say
stay.
Furtive glances from phone to door,
you slip on your shoes and smile.
fix the watch to your wrist, I
say, “Stay a while?”
Bathroom lights flicker on and —-
you are washed in white
as you wash me off.
Hands are clenched, sheets are wrinkled, I
say “where are you going?”
but you have gone,
and my questions reach the door,
hanging unanswered.
