On Monday Mornings

In my slumber I felt you releasing
me from your all night long tight embrace;
I knew it was 4 o’ clock in the wee Monday
morning. Half awake I inhaled your coffee
brewing and pictured you pouring it in your
mug followed by half a spoon of sugar.

I heard you coming in; I feigned sleep.
You caressed my forehead and whispered,
“I have to go now. I can’t be late.”
I took your hand to my lips and you
burrowed into my nape. As always,
even with wanting more said,
I just mumbled, “Take care.”

When the door’s lock clicked,
I knew it was 5 o’ clock in the wee Monday
morning. I turned around because my back
has turned cold. I tried to capture in haste
with my cold hand the warmth of
the other side of the bed,
alas, it was colder.