half empty glass

A half-empty glass of water sitson your bedside table, amongtissues and brown bottles. A wrongnumber getting me up late, it hitsme suddenly about the glass and undoesa night's good sleep: yeah, something's amisshere; something's definitely gone wrong.

And it'sa long night coming: solitary cars buzzby outside along the road, and the hissand catch and hiss of your breathing like an old songthat goes: something's wrong, wrong.

If I were youngenough to shake you awake, call it quits,step out of the house into the throngingdark, I know I couldn't: it's methat's wrong. So I kissyour damp hair, thinking you'll wake late from thisdead, loamless sleep, and maybe tell me what it wasabout me that I ought to have noticed all along.