Three AM Ache

At hours like these, I can't help but think of her;
three a.m., roughly a heartbeat or two past.
I can't help but recall the feeling
of her head on my shoulder, her breath at my neck
while I lay wondering, nearly brooding.

How did she come to be
nearly so close to me?
Was it smart to let her
so far in; to open myself
and let this all begin once more?

I find it not nearly as hard
as I would expect to accept
the fact that I had an idea; a tiny
spark of intuition
telling me she'd crush me out
like an insignificant, routine smoking cherry
against the heel of her sneaker.

Seems as though I’m beginning to help it;
the more I give this time to turn
over and over in my head,
the more time it has to loose its
sting, its smoldering heat.

For now, for now i know it seems
that three am will never be the same;

but moments will go by, impassibly marching and
early morning will come again and again and
eventually the feeling of her skin will pass
beneath my fingers and the patterns of her
freckles will fade into obscurity along with
this three a.m. ache.