Three pillows, end on end, rolled in a daybed blanket,
define the space between us.
You no longer care to breathe me in,
share the taste of my day,
while I ache for the salt slick of your skin,
the stress of contact.
I watch the ebb and flow of your breathing,
the swell of your chest over shipwreck-ribs.
Your spine describes a strange path
climbing to an unfamiliar place,
the taut skin stretched like sails
gathering the breeze.
Tomorrow I will wake becalmed –
strikeout for shore on the spring tide.
Somewhere, as the breakers fade behind,
I may find your footprint soft in plush and,
as I lay my head on your empty pillow,
I swear I’ll hear the ocean.