I rise late

Mornings you aren’t here

I rise late and the twisted covers

remain as they are. I don’t bother

to crack the slats of the blind, prefer

to let the stale remnants of sleep linger.


                            Today is new, you’d say

but the trail you left in the empty room

gives you away.


                                                                       Today is old

and it’s too late

                                        to take hold.

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