Solitaire

Sometimes in the quiet
slither of evening
I find my heart alone
like an unmatched sock
without a mate.
I roll it up and tuck it
beneath a clean tumble
of clothes in the closet,
tricking myself into thinking
it will warm beneath
the fuzz of fresh linen.

But

I find I'm cold anyway,
curled beneath the sheets
without a pulse
to keep me calm.
And then the night ekes on,
replete with shadows that
show me all the empty spaces
I cannot fill.