A picture of an empty bed makes me sad
The creases in the covers dragging down like the new lines in my face
The sheets hug the mattress because it’s the only thing it has left
No warmth no laughter
No whispered delicacies
That roll off of tongues made of pure-drop joy
No more belated good mornings and rushed kisses
Before responsibility knocks down the door
Before the coffee
Before the kettle boils over
It is silent now
The deaf keening of an innocent animal
Waiting for it’s master
To come back


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