I lie awake tonight and stare into the darkness
that hides the ceiling. Lonely, on my right,
the bed is still untouched, and still all night.

I used to glance in your direction, see the sharpness
the LEDs that told the time might throw
your sleeping shadow on the quilt like snow.

I cannot roll to you, to kiss and taste the tartness
of lips which, while asleep, respond and crave
reply. That answer sleeps within your grave.
 

                                   17 January 2024