Poem in Which I Imagine/Inhabit Your Regret

You know I didn’t mean— 
didn’t plan—didn’t scheme— 
to be the other end 
of this sobbing call, wondering,
can you drive yourself home?  
Wondering, can I be both 
rescuer and cause? Rewind
the night. Drive backwards. 
Get back into bed, optionally
my arms. Take deep breaths. 
Sleep. In the morning, I’ll bring 
you your tea, ginger peach turmeric,
and we’ll sort it out then. Or:
in the morning I forget and
you forget and our bodies 
come together the way they do 
in mornings. Or: you just
crossed into my bedroom, not yet
sad, and the yellow bra you teased
me with is lurking under layers,
still waiting to be undone by my hands.