Our Parade

Last night I made my bed with you
under the sheet.
Tonight, you’re one-hundred-ninety-three
miles away, again.
You don’t take up too much space
and little comfort is lost in our debate
over who will get the “good” down pillow—
even though it is mine.

Another night we’ll say our goodnights
over the phone and our discourse
will consist of your noted absence
from the nook of my chest and shoulder
where you fit perfectly.

I worry more when it’s you that makes the drive
and I’ll admit that you travel more often
and I am left to lose sleep in contemplation
of days-and-nights gone by
without you here with me in my bed.
I can only hope for fifteen hour days of exhaustion
when you’re not around
so I may lie quietly,
staring at the digital display
of my alarm clock
knowing that I won’t fall asleep.