I hang on to the memory of your shoulder

6
I hang on to the memory of your shoulder.
Each morning, the shadow of your beard,
like breakfast in bed,
sits abandoned by my sanity,
and all the books on the shelves
grow cold.

5
I hold hands
in a single moment of sepia,
cheek to cheek
with your frank declaration
of things I should have heard.

4
I play footsie
with boots too big
for your logic and
my penchant for sucker heroes.

3
I kiss the face
of reflection too young
to be so old.

2
I fall asleep in the heady warmth
of a nightmare you left behind.

1
I hang on to the memory of your shoulder.