she’s asleep on my couch
a cat in the winter sun
moving in her dreams
to keep her body in the light
but tonight she’ll be gone,
the furnace breathing
hot on me, my company,
words written before I was born
in broken books
with missing pages.
Before leaving she tells me
to keep track of what she owes me
in terms of love,
she knows exactly what to give,
afraid to give it.
How long
before one of us cried.
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