Windy days spent smoking on roofs are a haven for poetic creativity. Or maybe it was the lonliness.

Toes twiddle in the evening wind
that carries smoke
and the chime of bells sounding
dinnertime
you've already eaten, I'm sure
surrounded by family
that you can't watch eat for fear of
more bitter poetry to send
As you sit for a game of golf or spoons
I will play solitaire
with an incomplete deck
taken from upstairs
I will look at all your things
touch your CD's and books
smell your shirts
and curl up in bed
with the classifieds and work at
making my place here
in your place
hope you smile at my shelves and
my name on the mailbox
hope you don't scream inside your head
and remember fondly sleeping alone.
I sleep alone.
Wrapped in your sheets
biting your pillows
mark off another day passed
continue to count...9 days left
8 if I'm lucky
luck won't keep me warm tonight
I shiver in your shirt your sheets
fall asleep to images of you here
to wrap your hands around my
cold twiddling toes.
Until then I will count the chimes
and wait.

-8/2/99