the hatred when I woke
pushed me off the
wrong side of the bed.
the wall turned, 
into the closet, dresser and 
floor. Sharp pain!
My stubbed toes felt it first,
the pain that writhed inside.
the floor does not cushion
the blow of your absence
and stretching does not lengthen
the time I have to think upon
your face and smile 
and smell...
the cold pain of a forgotten earring
pressures my foot to forget your,
"I love you's."