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Description
four AM in California, the room half-lit, dawn rising slowly over Vallejo Boulevard, the empty closet that should be yours and my cold bed. I can still remember you in last November, hair pulled back, worn jeans and a tattered shirt, walking gently up that path, to the car and then, silently, gone. You had come to me the way I’d always hoped, me sleeping in the house by the lake, your strong thin body suddenly against mine, urgent, nearly pleading as I awoke. We moved together then for hours, in that room from my childhood, faded wallpaper, uneven floors, smell of pine and the noise of the lake over the faint low sounds of the mattress and rustling sheets; your skin white against the dawn.

Description
four AM in California, the room half-lit, dawn rising slowly over Vallejo Boulevard, the empty closet that should be yours and my cold bed. I can still remember you in last November, hair pulled back, worn jeans and a tattered shirt, walking gently up that path, to the car and then, silently, gone. You had come to me the way I’d always hoped, me sleeping in the house by the lake, your strong thin body suddenly against mine, urgent, nearly pleading as I awoke. We moved together then for hours, in that room from my childhood, faded wallpaper, uneven floors, smell of pine and the noise of the lake over the faint low sounds of the mattress and rustling sheets; your skin white against the dawn.