All photos and content © Tanya Anguita.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

The Leg of Comfort

When I want to make the statement
but not invite full commentary,
I come here,
to my safe place,
and write it all out.

You see,
I'm lonely.

Once again,
the bed is too big.

There is too much…
in the space between me
and the bare white wall.

There is no beloved face on the pillow beside me.
No blanket stealer to curl up next to
in the morning’s wee hours.

What I am missing most tonight --
more than your steady breath in the darkness,
more than the heat of our passion 
(which lit me from the inside and set my soul on fire);
more, even, than the deliciousness of shared laughter at midnight --
is the leg of comfort,
just in reach,
under the winter covers.

Tonight, I miss most
the gentle reassurance
of your calf in the bed next to me,
and with it, the simple ability
to reach with my foot in the still darkness
half dreaming,
and breathe a sigh of sleepy relief
upon finding you there.

An empty bed
when one is
to the nearness of love
is hard to navigate.

When you are next to me,
all familiar and warm,
with your hand in mine,
your breath steady on the pillow,
and the leg of comfort within easy reach,
I am soothed and reminded,
even in my deepest sleep,
that you are near by,
All is Well,
and I am not alone.

© Tanya Anguita  

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