On a morning busy with breakfast
I sneak in a moment
to lie next to M,
his small body moving
in tune with his breath.
I breathe in his hair
still
fragrant
from last night’s bath
the pink of the wash
lingers on the soft, soft
strands.
One slightly dirty
fingernail peeks from under the
pillow
where his hand rests, open,
searching perhaps for the
warmth
that used to be me.
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