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hands
I woke up last night
tried to stand up
move around
and I think because of you
it hurts more
to walk on my own.
I need my mother’s old bed
the one which I was conceived upon
and the tear stained desk
reminiscent of all those before you,
to help myself up
in place
of where your hand once was.
but what difference does it make?
you were just as cold.
It aches all over
muscles taut where
they once were not-
yet, I am certain that
I can bear the rest
when the pain is greatest,
just below
my left collarbone-
where a few days ago
you took the only living part of me
and left.

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