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.