Before my eyes open,
you are there
at the end of my fingertips.
Soft and warm,
I want to pull you close.
Closer.
I open my eyes
searching for your face
that isn’t there.
It’s too late to close my eyes and
pretend you back into my arms.
The cold sheets have seeped into
the empty spaces.
Down into my bones.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC
Before my eyes open,
you are there
at the end of my fingertips.
Soft and warm,
I want to pull you close.
Closer.
I open my eyes
searching for your face
that isn’t there.
It’s too late to close my eyes and
pretend you back into my arms.
The cold sheets have seeped into
the empty spaces.
Down into my bones.
