The Dog Likes to Sneak into my Bed

Opened my eyes this morning to a familiar weight pressed against my chest

It wasn’t you, no. It wasn’t you.

It was her and I grimaced because, yet again, I’d fallen asleep with someone not the woman I love.

I wanted it to be your ebony hair–softer than silk–tickling my nose.

I wanted it to be your olive eyes–shimmering like gold–smiling down at me.

I wanted it to be your skin–pale as milk–that I felt on my fingertips.

I wanted it to be you.

But it was her.

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