except

last night I slept with a man who wasn’t you

then again this morning too.

as I crawled on top of him

on a couch in his yard

my arms stayed wide

kept overreaching

expecting more body

or your body

where is your body?

there was nothing wrong with him

except he wasn’t you

how is this not you?

I cried in his arms,

silently of course,

turned away from him

of course.

would I be able to tell if my lover

cried for another

or am I especially slick?

I laid on him in the only way I could,

we fit in only one position

even then I have to crane my neck and forsake my hips.

I miss turning in you.

there’s so much more of you

everywhere.

I miss you

everywhere.