Your leaving
Scribbled ripples
In my bedsheets
A tragedy in drapery.
Where between each fold
crashed
sighed sonnets,
and from
every ruffle
poured
our trickled
love notes.
And the swell of your
hips unmade
my bed into tussled art.
And the peach
of your lips
drew a tide of
ache
from mine.
Now I ache
in my reading
the brushstrokes
of your absence.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
Your leaving
Scribbled ripples
In my bedsheets
A tragedy in drapery.
Where between each fold
crashed
sighed sonnets,
and from
every ruffle
poured
our trickled
love notes.
And the swell of your
hips unmade
my bed into tussled art.
And the peach
of your lips
drew a tide of
ache
from mine.
Now I ache
in my reading
the brushstrokes
of your absence.
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