Up past my bedtime again.
I sleep best
when I wrap myself up in the belief
that you are here beside me.
Curled up around my memories,
along with an old, tear-streaked
shirt of yours
that probably smells more like me
than you at this point.
I convince myself
that the pillow is your back,
until I can almost feel you
breathing up and down.
So I drift off,
for an hour or a minute,
wake cold, restart the process,
and work myself fitfully toward
March 3rd, 1997
Mutual Paradox© Cammie S. Sinor, 2014
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