I’ve drunk a little wine
beside me a few simple clues are
all that remain: there to my left I
could reach out and switch on the light
there to my right I
could reach out and touch the pillow
impressed by your head

you still haven’t returned
on the sheet to my left I’m sketching out
an everyday you
reclining upon it
on whatever any day
filled with vicious conceptions and memories
and always I think of those
wounds recently carried off from
busy high-strung excitable streets