you turn in sleep
(or something like it)
breath catching on the place
my name used to rest in your mouth.
fingers twitch. eye-lids relaxed
muscle-memory, In Loving Memory,
the body prays in supine gestures it forgets by morning.
your throat is bare.I used to live there.
I am the sigh that never
leaves the room.
the warmth that should
have faded.
the ghost of sweat
on your skin,
of hands pressed deep
into your ribs,
of wanting that
does not die.
No comments:
Post a Comment