wrinkles in my sheets

I’m used to being alone.

Only child in an empty house.

Quiet afternoons home from school.

Warm afternoon light streaming through blinds

to paint stripes across a silent family room.

Over time, I’ve made friends with the wrinkles in my sheets.

I’m not used to being alone in college.

One of four in a messy apartment.

Busy afternoons home from class.

Neon street lights streaming through blinds

to splash color over a crowded living room.

My friends stay over to sleep on the wrinkles in my sheets.

I’m not used to being alone with you.

One half of the occupants of an empty bedroom.

Quiet evenings home from Valentine's Day dinner.

Cold morning light streaming through blinds 

to illuminate your sleeping form.

Your body is covering the wrinkles in my sheets.