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Available for over a year

My sister is asleep next to me and I can’t, despite, well, everything, the vape isn’t helping, but – I’m doing my emails on a Friday night/ Saturday morning, lilac streaming in through the window. Blinds would be a good idea, but I enjoy this exposure. Here I am, curled and compelled, propelled to reply to recipients long asleep till Monday morning. Nothing is urgent, not even leaving, the other little death, and yet -- This will not be a poem about emails, rather, and I knew it, was about you, It's you, it’s you, it’s all for you has been in my head for days now, weeks, or before time, on repeat, it squats with me in the pub toilet. My sister rolls over, farts. We sleep back-to-back, for coolness from each other; same womb, different time. It’s been a year since you were here, in my bed, this exact mauve light, you used to roll over and hold me, a seatbelt from tomorrow, which gathered, a yanked duvet rushing towards us.