I remember mornings like these,
her in the other room with door
closed, on the phone
already.
mornings that could be spent making
love between
the night cooled sheets.
peering out the blinds
to see the overcast sky,
the black wet road. we could
have lingered
in each other's arms,
if it was real love. we could
have talked
read the paper
had coffee.
planned the day before us.
but we didn't.
she had places to go,
a boyfriend to meet,
promises to someone else
that she had
to keep.
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