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.