It Was Never Really There
I’ll sleep alone tonight, pressed into the sheets
with my hand underneath, an attempt to cover up
my lost and lonely fingers,
reaching for a touch that never so much as lingered on my skin.
I’ll look toward the glass and trace the moon with my stare,
gaze carried by the whisper of your voice through motion,
skin over sheets.
Picturing memorized daydreams
and you are half a world away.
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