There's an espresso maker where his books used to be
On the nightstand on that side of the bed
Gets me up at 5 so I can type out some trash
silence the monkey, try to clean out my head
There's a novel and a notebook and some poetry too
On top of covers on the side where he slept
Room enough for all of it and me when I crash
The floor beneath it nearly always unswept.
There is now another bookcase where his bureau once stood
Too many pairs of shoes line the wall
It's a good-sized room with no empty spaces
One would think that I don't miss him at all
It's not the life one dreams of but it must be what I chose
My boudoir companionship is fiction and prose
It's really both as lovely and as lonesome as it looks
The nighttime spaces of a girl who sleeps with books