LBI Aubade

I mistook the wind
rustling the curtains
for your fingers on paper

In my own bed
(separate twin)
I lay still
slow, measured breathing

I lay still
all night wondering
what you were reading

When dawn crept in
I dared turn

Morning illuminated
the geography of your back

I bathed in that

I rose, tired and foolish
begrudging wind and light
fleeting things


Years later
I inked a sketch
the half-hidden view

Your body a sun
the pitched roof's beams

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