sleepy threads
and coffee makes
a story out of nothing
but rings
where I’ve forgotten
who was sleeping
by my side

habits shared
and graces
have a way
of getting older
a sweet caress
is sometimes best
denied

morning keeps
her secrets well
and no one knows to talk
of shadows come
and who is left
to say

passion wears
a flannel gown
and takes her comforts
slow

fingers trace
the memory
of stay

. . .