Day 21: An Empty Bed

This morning I woke
to coffee and newspaper
and innocent eyes.

Long blonde hair grazed my
legs as you crawled back in bed.
I skimmed each headline

looking for words, words
that I could use to say what
I needed to say.

When the courage came,
I watched your eyes while I spoke.
The glimmer in them

disappeared swiftly.
Once green eyes with specks of gold,
now lifeless hazel.

"I'm sorry," I say,
but you're already packing.
I cannot turn back.

Your curtain of blonde
silk is the last thing I see
as I close the door.

This morning I woke
to coffee and newspaper
and innocent eyes.

Tonight I roll to 

your side of the bed, feeling

the soft curve where your

body used to lay,

and I imagine bringing

life back in your eyes.