Wednesday Poetry: Six

I crack my toes in the morning
—languidly—
and I think of you, as if beside me.

That’s how the phrase turns.
The nitrogen burst, like that
of an upward-open eye. Pop!

Could we laugh at that?
And I know. I wish.
To laugh in bed with you.

It’s only one morning were I wake
—and that’s worth a laugh itself!
Just once, that I turn over without you.

But the change is already heavy,
caught up by a long thread,
the more to be tangled in sweaty sheets.

I want to tell you, how
with lips held against your neck
my breath is yours.

… be seeing you.