Creases

It was early.
Even for day-break.
But since you had to leave
for a business trip,
we woke up way before dawn.
I headed straight to the kitchen.
Luke warm water
with generous dollop of honey.
Your morning ritual.
Springs you right in action.
You skipped the tea today.
With deft hands,
sure and confident,
you readied yourself.
Had a silent scanty breakfast
and left.
I looked around at the empty room,
and breathed your presence.
In the registers you worked late.
In the uncapped pan you wrote with.
In the hand towel carelessly hung at the bed-head.
But mostly in the creases of the bedsheet.
I traced the contours,
the remnants of the night
and I guess I blushed.
Then without setting them straight,
I lied down on the unmade bed
and embraced the wrinkles.
And it was like you never left.