Missing

She isn't there.

In the morning, I roll over and half-smile in
reflex
before reality creeps into my too-cold bones and reminds me

It's too quiet in the morning
and there's no music

she took it with her

so I dredge my memory
pull up the sunken places and forgotten days
polish them all off
build a fiction of her from spun thought and the dawn's light

she is far less fascinating than the real thing
and she doesn't make me giggle
snort into my cola and bang my teeth on the edge of the glass

when she is gone
i lose my laughter somewhere secret.
She takes it with her.

I'm so glad she's coming home.