The Kitchen Lonely

Writing about you
tonight in bed
I am not as lonely
as a midnight sip of water
in a dark and empty kitchen;

when each gulp fills the room,
as light would in the day,
and every collision of a glass,
against cupboard walls or thick countertops,
sends shrills of alarm pulsing
at the fear of stirring the sleeping house.

I am not as lonely as that
here, alone, without you,
but understand that I am close.

I am thirsty
but refuse to get out of bed
for fear of all that hollow echoing
and the linoleum tile floor
bouncing fake moonlight into my eggshell steps.

No, I shouldn't need a drink now.
There will be plenty of time
to miss you in the morning.