My bed is still warm,
Still lingers the heat
Of her on the bed sheet,
Still warmly wet
With the drops of her sweat
From the toil she made
On this bed.
Strands of her hair
Are still there
Where her head
Touched the bed,
Trails she signed,
Her fingers designed,
While she was spent
For the divinest moment.
I know I can’t hold onto it
Her residues on the bed sheet,
I have to know in my head,
She’s warming someone else’s bed.