Some nights, I’ll wake to the sound of a tap dripping
and find that it’s you beside me, lost in sleep,
freeing soft pops of air from the ‘o’ of your lips.
With the tips of my fingers I feel along the sheet
until I reach your mouth, hover there like a moth,
then gently lower my hand
to feel each burst warm against my palm.
They form into my name, your voice
in our midnight room, spilling into laughter.
unpublished poem, © Ella Duffy 2019, used by permission of the author.