I'm hunched on our bed
Like a stone unintentionally collecting moss
You are away and your
Side of the bed grows cold and raised
The imprint that you left in my mattress
Is similar to the one that you scarred
On my heart

It is a skewed imprint of you
Like the frond of some beautiful lost flower
Pressed between granite palms
In a museum behind smudged glass

The dips and curves of all
Your perfect and imperfect features
Wrinkled and pressed
Into a *****
Used surface

Even though the ceiling fan was on
I was covered in sweat and so were you
Like full bottles of beer in the sun

I pressed into you and you
Conformed into my body
Without ever waking up

I got lost in the damp folds of
Your tee shirt
The ****** wrapper on
The night stand and
The bundle of sheets on the floor
By the foot of the bed