This bed is cold tonight.
I get in rooting around
for a little scent of you
that may have been left behind.
Is it the pillow?
No.
Maybe try the divit in
the sheets where you layed.
It is there.
It is there but
will slowly diminish.
In fact, in a couple of days
I will not be able to
exactly recall how you smell.
It will then become a memory
unattached to any real sense,
that can only be awakened
by you again, my nose
against your nape again.
That too will come to pass
as you return to the winter
heat and humidity of that place
you have created – a sunshine city
for yourself.
I will stay here in the cold,
and rain, in this now quiet house,
trying to find a way
to warm this bed without you –
trying to find a way
to make that faint scent
hang around a little longer.
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