the day is getting closer
climbing like a high note
soft as a whisper
betrayal

Lord

now it (the note I mean)
swings back and forth 
on a current of air
and you’re just a slip of a thing
it’s all I can do to lie still

beneath the
bedcovers
the pale breath of you
catching in my throat
I try
not to think
or not to think too much

or I might die of something 
or other
or spend the rest of the day
beside this unmade bed.