His existence lies somewhere between the gods I could never believe in and the cold side of the bed
A misshapen figure remains dipped where he once laid
An ode to love
An ode forgotten from when we talked last
My heart no longer yearns for his love
My body no longer yearns for his touch
But on lonely nights like these
When 5 am calls with the birds echoing
and exhaustion bombards my being
Like a hollowed out skeleton
Bones ever quaking
I roll to the cold side of the bed
and yearn for his warmth