The space in between

You’ve got me writing poetry at 3 am.
Thinking about you, dreaming about you, waking up to you.
I hear your voice through the walls. 
Your morning conference calls. 
Your desk is backed on to my headrest, sheets of plaster mark the 
space 
between 
mine and yours. 
Fate not to be tempted, my heart must be tempered. 
An inappropriate lust. 

In a house with five rooms 
the only room I want to be in is yours. 

You are tall and beautiful. So beautiful I didn’t even notice. 
One morning having coffee in the kitchen. 
You cut the grass and you pass by the window. 
Sweat soaked through your shirt. 
Your brow wet, face glistening. 
Your beautiful body. I’m embarrassed to 
look, 
but
I stare. 

My heart aches.

I admire your way,
how you take up space, you fill the room. 
Your jokes and your laughter
You are silly but oh so smart, you don’t know 
how much 
the thought of you holds my heart.

In the darkness you are sleeping down the hall. 
You will wake and work,
work hard soon you start. 
Another day
you’ll awake, but I’ll be here
sleeping. 
Late mornings for me. 
Maybe,
we’ll sync up one day. We’ll see. 
Until then I’ll lie here. 
At 4 am I’m still writing. 
Putting thoughts onto paper; 
how to cope with feelings for your housemate,
a letter to myself 
about how the heart moves in this state. 
In these times emotions amplify, there’s no one to distract me from the 

space 

you take up. 

When this time ends, 
I can’t wait 
to be a part. 

If only, to give rest, 
to my worn-out tired heart.