When the cotton-soft quiet seeps in through the blinds,
and the moon turns away its cloud-striped face,
your name rises up in me,
biting at my wrists, teeth chattering at my pulse, clawing its way back into my blood.
And I breathe deeper, slower, letting your no-voice wash over me,
your no-smell gather in my pores,
splaying shadowed memories against the wall, like fireside games, without the warmth.
Till dawn I´ll pretend to fight you,
happy to discover your bruises, once again,
under my eyes, as I reach for sleep.