At times, you're
a vacant pillow
limp in my embrace

and yet, in the same
moment;

you slip into my 
bedroom window,
cup my rhythm-less 
heart

then wrest, from me,
another beat.

I blush a tender
colour, tousle 
memories between 

my empty fingers
and with a kiss,

bid December
sweet dreams:
an aftertaste
of liqueur hanging

on my every word.