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.