A warm breeze
may mean early spring,
but I’m alone between frigid sheets
drinking.
Remembering
the electricity of
first touch.
The laughter.
The rush.
I ask myself,
did I push you too much?
Lack care?
You held me
face-to-face
back when my conscious
was bare.
I take the final sips
of wine lying nude,
wondering if you’re
awake
and drinking, too.
Thinking of me
behind closed curtains,
beneath the unfaithful
moon,
somewhere.
© 2023 | K.Hartless
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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