these rooms are as familiar as breath,
or the feel of my shirt against my skin—
what would these rooms be like
if they did not hold you

it would be like having
nothing to anchor myself to in the morning,
no firm ground my anchor could hold

I had dinner with you tonight
and we laughed and laughed

it’s not always like this—
you and I, being two
as well as lovers, are not
always in a synchronous phase

but these rooms would know
you were not here

these rooms too
would know

Jim Culleny