I wasted the moon all night doing some counting, not bottles, not teeth, not cups, no, no, perhaps...

Your render me lonely. 
I find you in other things.
For a while it is you, and then
    it is the wings of the breeze,
or a fragrance that comes to me whole.
In their arms I lost them,
body and soul,
but you,
you only,
are born ever anew;
because I never held you,
now I hold you...