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Click hereShe was on the phone,
again, when I checked for
messages that I had missed
while out taking care of
this and that. Hearing her
reminded me that I still
could feel the warmth of
her body against mine, how
it buffered me from the night
air. I barely needed a blanket
even now, with half the bed
empty and cold. I had to replay
it, working my way through all
five senses--how her hair smelled
of lemons, but her skin was
salt and sweat and made my
stomach growl to breathe in;
the way my fingers would itch
when they had been too long
from caressing their way up
inside her; and how I always knew
it was her cough even in the very
back of a darkened house full of
laughter and applause. I replayed
it once more to see if anything had
changed, but it was just the same
as every other time I'd missed her.
"I want to come home. Please."
I would understand it more if this
was still her home, but it's not.
This really made me think and wonder what was the story behind it all
This poem was mentioned in today's New Poetry Recommendations in the Poetry Feedback & Discussion forum.