……over the edge

I wake to your empty pillow

still showing some form there,

the feather fill resists the pull

to roll back to unused round.

It still smells of your sweetness

and I want you here, how selfish

to share the sun’s grand rise,

through slats that lit your face,

when you wake me in the morning

and hug me in the dawn.

Touch, the most electric of connections.

The power behind closeness and unity,

that is what this vacant space presents

the power of finger-tip reality.

dwk