For screen readers:
sometimes… i hug my blanket close,
and pretend it’s you.

and when i turn around, i feel
its thermal mass like a ghost on my back,
and i pretend it’s you.

i feel the ink river along
my upper arm lapping against the cliffs
beneath yours as the sun gives way
to you, and it feels right,
and i pretend it’s my moon.

i cry.
and i sleep well.