The place alongside her is void and cold.
Without the warmth of his haven,
Restless and sleepless nights looks for his embrace.
His chest, her paradise and hideout.
Some pieces of him resembles the moon,
delicately gleaming close to her on her little bed,
must be a trap of the eye regardless of keeping her awake.
Slouched over a folder of unedited poems at 2:30 am,
what the moon longs for when the sun tucks it into bed at dawn as your eyelids shakes.
And you’re breathing hitches for a minute,
before you roll over, face the wall,
parting clouds with a small sigh.
A discrete line, in between.
The life She’s living and the one she dreams of.
Sleepiness has overpowered her lately,
the discomforts by the doomed sciatic nerve,
on the tip,
Shutting her eyelids down,
She is unaware,
if she is,
tired of life,
to start anew.