I found your sock beneath the bed
You laughed and blushed a little red
“You always leave a piece,” I said
And somehow that’s what stuck instead
One sock missing, like a hint
Of how you always leave a print
Not gone, not here—just in between
Like waking up from something seen
You stretched and yawned, then pulled the sheet
But left your presence in repeat
You’re not the type to say too much
But even silence leaves a touch
You disappear, but never quite
You’re in the corners of the night