I wrote to you of my head  

On your shoulder 

In single-bedded bliss    

I wrote to you of my want 

And desire 

In a letter sealed with this: 

Dear blank I wish we had more time 

Or space to make more of this: 

Of what we shared  

Of what we confessed  

Of how I really miss 

Our dancing scents 

Our tentative tips 

Our fingers ghosting  

Across sheets and wrists 

Gently in prayer, 

And not wholly aware, 

In single-bedded bliss.