How To Fight The Loneliness

His back against mine in the night — our feet tangled and warm, as if our bodies were a sentence and the soft collapse of ankles and toes were the full stop.

When he is gone there are words missing. Poems go unfinished. My spine cannot make an epilogue on want alone. I linger, wax, and run on waiting.

There is no end to the sentence my lonely body makes in the dark of my room.

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