& i knew you didn’t write poetry
like me; & i had told you
goodnight, but after i drifted
under the covers, you sent me
the words that your brain had spun
up; & in the morning, i was gifted
with the image of you looking
in my eyes like an ancient god;
& i miss all

the words you ever said to me; & i wonder

if you ever get lonely at night
like me