Quiet Fills Your Space

Your lips on my lips, a kiss so lovely,

we trace on our skin patterns of pleasure.

I wake, mind grasping to hold on tightly

to the sweetest dream, my only treasure.

The morning is old, but I'm older still.

Clicks of the clock echo pops of my own.

A drizzle drowned the dawn's dew with a chill

that grates at your absence deep in my bones.

I linger in bed to bask in the dream,

but reality barges in with a scream.

You've been gone so long; quiet fills the space

where our hearts sang our song, and I kissed your face.

Your pillow lies undisturbed, the linen crisp and tight,

but all I see are red locks, their coppery strands of light

framing your smile and freckles, my favorite first sight.

Sleeping on your side still doesn't feel right.

I seek out your hand; old habits die hard.

The memory foam whispers of your valleys and hilltops

as my fingers trace a land now deserted and scarred.

I wipe sleep from my eyes, finding only teardrops.

Another day passes; I keep myself busy

until night brings us together again,

in a dream or permanently.