I hold myself at night,
“I do”. . .  distant echoes, awake at night at your side.
The smell of linen, your snores so distant and yet so close.
I hate myself for dreaming. . .
Of someone coming to dance with me,
Even though they hate dancing only because
it's with me and no one else.
I hate myself for dreaming. . .
Knowing it's not you,
“I do” distant echoes, young lovers. . .
Formerly in love