Looking at wrinkles in the bed sheets
a signal you were there.
Dented pillow still filled with your scent;
lost in thought, I stare.
Sun streams through the gaps in blinds;
piercing the darkened room
like bullet holes in a war torn land;
a quiet peace mixed with impending doom.
Your fingertips escape me;
there's only remnants of your hair.
No morning kiss to greet you;
no midnight dreams to share.
Quiet in this lonely room;
no music, laughs or sighs;
just the haphazard breathing
while rubbing sleep from my eyes.
I lick my lips to taste you;
but your flavor has long since faded;
and the absence of it, and of you
has left me raw and jagged.
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