Unshared Air

The light, too sharp,

cut through the blinds.

A strange ceiling,

cracks I didn't know.

Next to me, a shape,

breathing slow.

A name, somewhere,

in the haze.

No warmth. Just

the stale perfume,

and the flat taste of

another bad decision.

I traced the pattern

on the wall, counting

dust motes, anything

but turn my head.

The air between us,

thick and unshared.

Just the slow grind of

another morning.