"The Morning After"

Her shadow falls
across my body,
though my eyes are closed
I imagine her sad smile
as she straightens her clothes.

To give her privacy
I pretend to sleep,
no awkward good mornings
or forced goodbyes,
just the silence of her breath.

She's in the bathroom
I can hear water
running and I wonder
somewhat strangely
did she bring her own toothbrush?

The toilet flushes
and I hear her footsteps
as she glides across the carpet
back into the room
that we've shared for the night.

I smell her scent
sweet perfume and clove cigarettes,
as my mind slowly
awakens to the conclusion
she'll be leaving soon.

I hear her rummage
through her faded vinyl purse,
her fingers running over items
in search of something
maybe keys to her house or car.

There is silence save her sigh
as she does something
I cannot see
though I could open my eyes
to take a peek.

Then I feel it,
her kiss upon my cheek,
a tender gesture
brought upon by my actions
of the night before.

I want to open these eyes
and maybe say something
but I don't
for fear of ruining this moment
of her own.

Her footsteps recede
and the front door opens, closes,
I know she has gone;
I finally open my eyes
to the dawning light.

On the mirror she's written
in ruby lipstick
"Thank you for last night",
and I smile wondering
if she'll ever look at me the same.

I get up and go to the window
so I can watch her walk
across the street to her house
where she just stands,
I can tell she's crying.

The house is burnt to the ground
nothing salvaged,
save the clothes she wore,
and the purse she carried,
when I pulled her from the wreckage.

Drift back to last night
me holding her close, and clothed,
as we lay together,
she sobbing in my arms
as I rocked her to sleep.

I put on my shoes
and go out there to join her,
to help sift through the ashes
to reclaim whatever we can
of what was her happiness.

I put my hand on her shoulder
"it's going to be okay",
and she nods her head silently
on the morning after
the fire.