Rosary Beads

She kissed me on the face when She left this morning, me still Half-sleep-safe under the blanket, Leaving for work kissing not on the lips. And last night lying on the couch, Tired flung limbs just touching, Did her foot inch away? The next time of kissing goodbye I Push on the edge of expected ardor; Saturday night kiss on Tuesday morning, Gauging the response for hair-fine Nuances in return. A wisp of stray Hair tucked behind her left ear And she’s gone. Needlepoint holes seep air and threaten a leak of my calm; small tears rent in the shell Of my love-self. And I almost ask What it is or might be. And I toss about Possible answers in my head. The not-knowing hangs around my neck And I worry it, Lingering on each separate cold Rosary bead, counting doubts.