What pains it is, to feel within my bed the ghost of you. To take to my night-time vigil, trembling alone as I picture there your physical form; not so lately left. I summon you there to reach out to me, and feel only the more alone to know that what I think I find; my desire, is only a ruse. I belong only without you...
Kept awake by the phantom of you, I force myself to breathe slow and deep.
Roused early by nerves and work, barely slept, I drift about my duties, ever yawning, staving off sleep as my eyes grow unbearably heavy and my mind blinks. An arm, a leg, they forget their duties and drop, momentarily, like a nod of the head. A short spasm; an unexpected sleep that lingers less than half a second. Inexhaustibly it pursues me, and always do I feel so flushed; as though perpetually enduring the fall of hot, indelible, tears.
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