bed is cold

last night i missed you so

i felt the wetness beckon
and i throttled the desire
that threatened me
for you were not in sight to quench it

sometimes it feels like you’re gone
gone from this world to the after
and i try to remember everything
and my head hurts with the thinking

i gather the memories
and press them in books—
(your scent, the feel of your skin)
one day i’ll open them
and maybe i’ll look
but now i just save them away.


© Eliza Alys Young

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