Absent Minded

Sam Wassel

I lie
in the crevice of cold
plaster and twisted
bedding. I refuse
to lift
the shades
that hide
dormant irises
threatening
to blossom.

The opaque covers
caress my
shoulders. The weight
of my body as I
turn over, languid, leaves
a depression
in its wake. I
hook my
left
thigh around
a pillow hardened
by neglect. My heart
beats the memory
foam. My breath
whispers
back to me--
muted echoes
from a salty pillowcase.
I clutch
a comforter that is not,
curling my toes
against the irony
footboard.

I open
and peak
through wet
eyes. I embrace
the release,
making love
with the absence
of you.