Buddies

We only hold hands past midnight,

When, in the delirium of sleep,

You finally say yes as I whisper to you,

I want to be closer.

The tips of my fingers are numb,

While my palm sweats as I refuse,

To let go, to let this feeling disappear.

When I wake up,

My palms are empty and cold,

My bed is messy as if someone lay down next to me,

But, as the sun peaks through my window,

There is no one around to say good morning too.