morning after the night

every morning i wake up
i expect to find her still there
but all i find
when i turn to her side of the bed
is my own reflection
in the broken mirror

there's still the taste
of her lipstick on my lips
her perfume fills the room
and my nostrils
a few strands of her hair
some scrapings of her nailpolish
and some of her rouge
on the pillow
that's all

we are the children of the dark
of the night
the day won't have us together
neither would we.

i don't seek
just the comfort of her body
it's the question of losing myself
in someone other than me
of forgetting for a few moments
who or what i am

i sit there on the bed
and let my senses soak
every remnant of her
and that's my cue
to withdraw all bridges
and get back to being me
the mirror is whole again

but how i wish
i'd wake some day
in her arms