i only “know” you sleeping
(so seldom) by my side, on yours.
i count your secrets (hairs too few)
for warmdark, unsleepy hours.
would the why of you
(because of him)
be better, the if of other?
but…
slowly rising,
raising shoulders absolve your (YES)terday.
no-one, my forgiven love,
will ever wake like you.
figure eight
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