In Case I Got Cold (A poem with only commas)

Before you awaken I have covered miles in a drafty rail car
I sleep furtively, brokenly next to strangers
clutching at a ticket to the places I've tried to give up for good
so I can be more fully where you are, sleeping like you do
rising when you rise
waiting for our deep breaths to synch up as they did
the day we were flush back to chest
and I trusted you with my life
letting you be the gravity holding me to the world

every curve in the track bends me back to the ache in the center of your chest
the ache I want to worsen, the wound of yours I share, it can only be healed
by finding the other half of its face in the dark

Before you turn over on your side I have had my first sip of coffee
and hunger has risen in me as a dream in another woman's heart
I remember how you once explained drawing to me

your hand was balled, not really a fist, but closed up
everything is a separate shape
here is one, and here is another
that made sense, the shapes of hands, a hand in increments
of lines and planes

or later
the smudge of burgundy lipstick I smeared on your right shoulder
the same day your fingers accidentally brushed lightly over my bottom lip
when you zipped my jacket all the way up
in case I got cold