I woke up in yet another mess of bed sheets
with your bare chest up against my back
and my legs tangled up with yours underneath those flannel sheets
that haven’t been washed in weeks. The candle beside the bed still flickering
from the night before.
You loosened your grip as I crawled from that queen size bed
searching for that baby blue blouse that I dropped onto the floor
last night after we were done talking in circles.
I slid into it in a lame attempt to hide the not so invisible ink of our past
that speckled my upper body like freckles across my face
after a hot, summer's day.
Steam filled the small apartment,
leaking out of the bathroom door after you managed to roll out of bed
and into the shower. As the hot water hit the bottom of the tub
we spent hours in over the past year laughing until our fingers turned pruney,
I striped the bed
getting rid of the *****, wax stained sheets we used to sleep in
with the hopes of this time leaving behind the people we once were.