the sheets are crisp and clean
there is no bed to be made
in the early evening of summer
there is no need for shame
lying naked upon the bed
reaching for an empty space
there is only the coldness
of the last words
that laid to waste
the memories of tangled moments
of twisted limbs straining for release
tiny droplets of sweat, kissing bare skin
begging for the sin
to never cease
the bed is empty and the windows open
a breeze the only caress
to kiss thy heart
ghostly fingers run goose bumps
upon my thighs
not the only thing in my life
to part