there are moments when the house

aches with his absence

as do i

my frank sinatra singing in our shower

i find myself sweetly seeking him

feet sliding into his house slippers

fingers slowly uncapping his beard oil

the tines of his sandalwood comb

face burrowed into his pillow

the scent of his shirt collar against my lips

not because he’s been gone long

because i have never felt love like this before

simply because…it’s tuesday