Weary Traveler

By D. R. DiFrancesco

Awaking bleary eyed I wipe the sleep from my bloodshot eyes,

Sensing my solitude, I reached for you but you are not there,

The faintest sliver of light passes between the hastily drawn curtains,

Revealing my bed, damp and crumpled and void of you.

Out of utter concern I rose, suddenly unfamiliar with my surroundings,

The feel of carpet under foot was in no way comforting,

Stubbing a toe on the nightstand I cried out in pain and for you!

But there was no reply to my labored pleading.

I’m suddenly alert from the throbbing and solemnity,

The weakest of smiles takes root on my unshaven face,

As unfamiliarity gives way to focus I slump incredulously at the beds edge,

Muttering under my breath, I must travel less and get more sleep.