Whisked Away

Your scent remained on the bed after you dressed.
I laid back under the sheets, as you fumbled restlessly,
looking for pieces of your purse you left in my drawer.
Anxiously stepping into your shoes, you pony-tailed your hair.
I crawled forward to kiss your jasmine procured neck.
Those eyes told me no, as you made for the door.

My arms held my head heavier this day than before,
as I glanced up at my ceiling counting cracks and shapes.
The shadows angling off the fan from the ceiling to my floor,
held our secret encounters from our time spent in my apartment.
Confirming that you'd left again, I closed my dry, motionless eyes.
Always here waiting for your return,
I pretend that the next time you're here,
you won't be whisked away in the night.