Sometimes I find it hard to concentrate,
But my mind can hold the image.
someone That'll commiserate
in my morning misery,

Or at least understand The hollow filling like a drum.

Maybe
when I awake,
and see you lying

that things are fine

and our hands could be entwined,
or I could slip between your breast,
and hold you by your chest.

But why be so burdensome.
perhaps I’d rather be alone
Let the morning throes dissipate with the sun.