Since you left I haven’t slept worth crap.

The sheets that once slipped, silk against

My nipples, now scratches and clings.

The dyslexic street lamp outside my bedroom

Window taps out “miss you, too” in Morse Code.

Drifting off into the whirlpool of frustration

My mind wanders to those moments of

Post-coital haze. Early evening.

The sun has dipped and amber light

Watches through the gap in the curtains.

Fingers feather alliterations along a sedentary spine;

Tracing tattooed testaments to real religion,

Effigies of everyday living.

Reverent refinements, well groomed

Scruff handsomely mussed rests relaxed

Against the pillow, hands stacked beneath your head.

I can’t help but smile.

Gruff one word whispers before the silence,

The distance ever widening,

Until you slip into your jacket

And step out the door.

Not once do you look back,

Your mind already focused on the next appointment

But I know you’ll return.

Our weekly transaction guarantees it.


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