by Rochelle Roberts


There is a soft heaviness

In the first moments of wake,

A warm fuzz of consciousness.

Eyelids flicker,

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 Roberts | @rocheller@rochellerart 

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.

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