sheets

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the bed is made, and the sheets are all clean and freshly washed.


they've been clean since you've been gone.


once they were a messed-up canvas of the knots and ties and twisted creases that we've made with love. they've been pulled and thrashed in the heat of passion over and over and over again. 


they've heard whispers in the dark and been witness to the dirty things we've done.


once they smelled of sex and of the things we both loved most. of the clothes we tore from each other, of the flowers you used to bring, of smoke and weed and alcohol.


now they are clean. now they are only clean.


and the only things they hear are mournful sobs in the middle of the night. and they smell of saltwater now, as the pillows only ever get an endless stream of tears where once they knew the very shape of your head.


I bet they miss of the miss the feeling of being dirty, as much as I miss messing them up with you around.


 

Created: Aug 19, 2012

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pepsiice Document Media