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The bed is still warm
where you left it,
incongruous quilt dented into
soft valleys and rolling hills
The last of your breath
pooling into the space
between the pillows.
We did nothing, we say.
And everything, we believe.
And the words that cropped up
between the silences fell scattered
like so many crumbs in the sheets,
a grainy reminder
of things yet to come.
How could I sleep?
The mattress still creaks for you.





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ChrisTid7 said...
Oct. 29, 2013 at 11:12 pm
It's a really movig piece and really makes me think "why is he/she gone?" I really wish we knew why the person wasn't here, but it's a great poem!
 
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