In the Cold Night Air

When morning first dawns,
I toss about in bed
and it occurs to me
that you were here.
the day generates heat
and I wonder what you’re doing now,
trying to mind my tasks at work.
the afternoon stretches the hours
beyond possible limits,
but I am still amused about
the things she does,
you know,
that would be trivial to others.
dusk filters in my apartment for supper
and I need to turn on artificial lights,
when two candles might have sufficed.
As the crescent moon first cuts
the black sky outside the window,
I try to understand
the meaning of our liaisons,
her caustic remarks
mingled with her soft touches.
Things have more meaning
when the night air
chills the sheets.