Solitary

My love died Tuesday night.
Empty as a Ming vase,
I lay alone for the first time
In months.
Reaching out, in blind sleep,
In blind faith,
Expecting
	touch
	the warmth of skin
	the scent of another -
I find only myself.
Only bedsheets, cool
Where no one is lying.
Cotton, smooth,
Where no one is sleeping.
The sound of breathing is my own.
And reaching inside,
Where my love used to be,
I find only myself.


December 12, 1995
© Lela Kaunitz