Listening to Wilco in the Dark and Waiting for Her to Text Me

Music is my substitute for love,
and I finally fall asleep,
with just two more hours 
of backbreaking slumber.

I wake up to pee,
check my phone,
nothing but Tweets;
remind me to buy Advil PM.

Back in New York,
she is lying on the ceiling,
staring at the floor,
listening to Fade Into You. 

Sure as hell,
I miss New York,
and maybe her,
and I miss not hurting in the morning.