Work, and All It Makes You Miss

he's chewing on

the shadows of her

in his memory,

trying to taste

that feeling

of morning,

when he made his way

through the dark

as she slept,

already missing the sound

of her breathing

in rhythm

with his tiptoes,

knowing with each step

she'd wake up

disappointed that

she didn't get to

tie her heart to the scene

of him pulling himself away,

but she's never looked down

on herself like this,

with parted lips,

sleeping as though

all the world existed,

to give her rest,

and he'll chisel

the moment like stone

until recollection becomes silk

and every detail is captured

like sunrise bleeding blessings

upon his day.

and she'll dream

of making him coffee

while he locks the door.

and he'll wish the sun would die,

so his day could be filled with

dreams of her,

instead of memories

too swift to hold