Still Sometimes Sleeptalking

a poem about our nights

Photo by Quin Stevenson on Unsplash

At night, and during the day but
at night.

We tell ourselves we don’t miss her. We’re just
lonely.

The proof is in just how far
she’s gone,

since she moved
on and on.

So instead of her
we say
we need curves’ caresses.

Instead of that soft voice in the night,
another woman’s whisper sounds alright

We know it’s true. We know. It’s true.
Look at all of you. Just sometimes still,
almost asleep, it almost sounds

all wrong.