Untitled Work from Some Morning

I lay here in the dark of winter morning
with you.
The smell of your hair, its lightness dark
against the blackness
The feel of your weight just there
but so very far
The motionless bounce of the bed
as you turn to me
The laugh of your eyes
and the pouty, mischievous smile you have --
wisps of smoke before me.
The feel of your touch that sends a jolt through me,
but its only the clock whining again
telling me that I must, once again, awaken to find
your are not here --
with me --
this cold winter morning --
without sun --
without smile --
without laughter --
without touch --
with only the lingering feel of your fragrance
and a drop of dew running down my face.