by Rochelle Roberts
There is a soft heaviness
In the first moments of wake,
A warm fuzz of consciousness.
The tickle of an eyelash,
Hot breath filling the space beneath the covers.
I imagine we mirror each other,
My back facing yours,
And yours mine,
A deep-rooted anchor
Connecting the space between us.
There is a comfort in the heaviness,
The slow unfurling of my spine.
I feel luminous,
Safe in the knowledge that
You are feeling this too;
The slow ritual of the morning.
I roll onto my back,
Reach to remember the feel of your skin on mine,
Rush of blood to the heart
And my stretching fingertips.
I think you will echo me
But there is an empty space,
Blank and uninviting.
It takes me only a moment to remember
You were never there.
Rochelle is a writer living in London. She studied creative writing at university and works in arts publishing as a sales and marketing assistant. She also run a writing group, The Scape, with her friend in east London.