home for one (room for two)

I will wake up in a double bed,
I will stumble into the kitchen, eyes squinting, hair untamed,
& sun will glow & I will be blinded by a bowl of apples & I will reach to grab one,
& I will fail & grab some coffee instead.
I will forget to roast it but it tastes the same.
I will silently chew on coffee
& my eyes are still adjusting to the sun.
I am crawling across this double bed,
attempting to growl but my voice is always too hoarse & I have to try three times before it sounds the way it used to be & I'm sorry
& I am smiling, but is this big enough? Should I quit?
I pull twice to turn on the lamp, one pull too short,
& so I read my books in the dark.
I will fall on to some double bed someday,
my stomach won't fail me for once & there's no throwing up,
done with passing out— done with cracking backs,
these arms are strong now, they will never break off,
& I begin to murmur soft compliments no one will hear.
I could sleep in this double bed,
three minutes away from sleep.
One minute to remember what I will do, I will clean these sheets of mine.
Two minutes to remember why I'm here, & I've lost my sight & pull my lamp,
Three minutes to see where I am, & so much room!
Before I sleep here, I roll to the other side.
So cold.
So new.
I'm thoughtless.
& then I wipe the drool off my face,
& burrow my smile in this double bed.