He woke with a start.
He felt the hand upon his skin
and knew it was not hers.
As he absently stroked his thigh,
he remembered the familiar lyric with a new
and slightly painful awareness,
“it's quarter after one, I'm a little drunk,
and I need you now.”
Holding her those too few,
tender moments had reignited,
the longing he had controlled
so well those three days apart.
The softness of her clothes,
the smoothness of her skin,
the familiar feel of her hair
had been too much,
but not enough.
He reached out and tried to remember
why she was not there.
He caressed the sheets and drifted back to sleep
only to be jerked awake again.
His empty arms needed.........her.