Glass Half Full

I laid down,

It was late, too late to rise with grace.

The bed wasn't mine,

I glanced at the walls,

Bare, in a way that called upon memory.

A coat hung up,

A glass half full,

The smell of a cologne not mine.

I thought to myself,

Whoever he might be,

He won't be coming back.

So I dropped the thought.

Then I stood barefoot on the floor,

Sighed a small sigh,

Like a man who opened a window,

But couldn't look outside.

There was no love,

No theft.

Only a body that found sleep,

Where none was expected.

No one kicked me out,

Only shadows on the walls,

Who seemed to know everything,

Yet never tell their secrets.

R.L.J.