Untitled, No. 9

These days I find it hard

To drift to sleep without you

My back has grown accustomed to your heat

My neck, to the feeling of your breath

My hands know intimately the beating in your chest

And the way your fingers tangle into mine

The ache of longing is what keeps me from sleep,

Tossing and turning to attune myself

To a body that’s miles from my own.

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