I miss snarl. I keep looking up to smile at him, to watch him readiing in the candlelight, but the chair is empty. I drink some more wine, smoke another cigarette and imagine the gleam of his skin. These will be three long nights in the soft white sheets overlooking the bridge. There are gaps between us where there needn't be the slightest chink of twilight.
Evenings hold hesitant pauses rather than easy silence.
But still I can not, will not doubt the strength of this love. Though I wonder at my perverse need to test its edges. And I miss you like the deserts miss the rain.