sweet

the insides of my eyelids must be painted with your face,
and my sheets woven with the ghost of your touch,
because when I lie at night and try to close myself
I am faced with your smile, caressed by your skin,
wrapped in your warm and imaginary embrace.

'please. please.' I find myself whispering to the no one next to me,
my lips pursed as if to kiss, my arms around air.
'I love you, I love you, I love you.'
I murmur kindnesses you don't want from me anymore,
as though if I dream hard enough I'll find I'm talking in your ear.

sometimes if I close my eyes you talk back, tell me I'm beautiful,
or just hold me tight and safe.
but I'm naked and alone
and these are my hands running along my body,
my own dry lips spewing sweet nothing.