Alone But Not

You still visit my bed, did you know? This morning early, very early, I was waking up slowly, very slowly and stretched out flat on my belly against the new clean sheets and I remembered your touch. Happy to remember it.

How you might reach over, just run your fingers down my spine, from the tippy top edge of my hair, a messy blond pile of hay straw in the morning, counting vertebrae to see if any had slipped away over night, down to the arch in my low low back. With your finger, you stroke those indents -- kidney marks -- one on each side, above the edge of my panties, then linger there.

With one eye, I crack a look to the left, but don't see you, instead I meet the light of day. I grind my hips into the bed longing for you. If I arch my back, maybe you will appear. I remember too much. I want to feel the weight of you on me. I want you to pin me to the bed. It would be a fair fight.