It was all a jumble of hotel rooms
and fragmented conversations:
large leather chairs near open windows,
late night walks along a river.
But I was there,
and you were there,
and something
passed between us.
Such scraps I cannot patch
as I wake into this night.
Unable to return again
to sleep, I watch the street
lights flicker like fireflies
outside these curtained
windows; and I listen
to her quietly breathing
here in this bed, instead.
(March 23, 2015)
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