I mourn the flesh of her
The weighty warmth of smooth limbs on my back
The delicate scent of hair in my mouth.
I miss the teeth of her.
The laugh she kept for me
The languid repose of her on a Sunday morning.
I miss her mind of course
But it is the flesh of her that leaves its searing emptiness in my soul.
I hug a pillow but it gives beneath my touch
And it is cold.
I wonder is she cold too ?
I close my eyes but all I see is bone. Bones.
The smooth skin going,going. Gone.
It’s all wrong. Without her.
Why do my lungs not give up ?
I think my heart has.