I still wake up like I'm dreaming
My hands still search the damp sheets for my phone
scrambling for evidence that
you're really gone.
Maybe you're a leg I slept on funny
numb and bloodless, but there
The last time we spoke was two weeks ago
perhaps only hours too early
and already much too late
The mechanical limbs turning
and virus searching the miles between our beds
I didn't say good night to you.
I carried you around in my pocket
not knowing that I'd open my eyes panting
out everything I still haven't said to you
only screen light smiling back