Morning

I lie alone on the bed, our bed
and slide over to your side
where the slats are set to heavy
and the warm still resides.

You’ve abandoned these sheets of white
for the drone of the sunrise traffic
and the call of a long black
on the way to your work.

I doze off to a place not unlike reality
where the three princes of serendip
have bestowed good fortune on me
by introducing me to you in a crowd

I wake to the jangling of my phone
It is you, and my fortune remains good
and my heart and my body ache for you
as I listen to your sweet whispered nothings