Morning Snuggles

(I had started writing a new collection of poetry in 2020, just before COVID hit, to have been titled: "Moving On." I never finished it, and no longer have the desire to. Still, I wrote these and there's no reason not to share them.) 

I roll over in the morning,

reach out my arm for you,

and caress the empty air;

your pillow cold.

You say it isn't personal and I know,

I know,

but I miss you.

I come down the stairs

and see you there,

snoring on the couch,

and wonder

what happened while I was asleep?