Crushing, isn't it;
     the absent brush of skin-on-skin.
Cold toes under warm sheets,
     the bed is empty all the same.
Ghosts of lovers past,
     numb tongues, carpet burn on your knees.
Soft murmurs, be quiet, I know, I know, shh,
     bruises on your knuckles from being held so tight.
Crushing, isn't it;
     the missing weight of bodies on top of yours.
Lukewarm kisses on yielding skin,
     he is gone all the same.
You promised your heart wouldn't burst as he himself did,
     and he is gone all the same.