No Moon

This is a poem about you and how
it all went to hell when you told me
you wanted to see other people. What you
really meant was goodbye.

I thought it
up in the middle of another black sleepless
night a scratchy wool blanket over me,
panties around one ankle,
thighs parted
heels together.
My hands efficient between my legs.

I think about how good it felt to
wrap my legs around your waist
and dig my heels in your ass
while you drilled me hard.
I smell and taste me on the hand
I clamp over my mouth to
keep from screaming as I climax.

With the worst of the edge off
I stroke myself slowly the second time.
Without you my heels dig in the mattress,
My back arches and the electricity zings through
my core, but not my heart.

With you gone the release is a
physical necessity in order to sleep.
With you gone and not coming back
there is no moon slim, smiling or otherwise in my dark and lonely night.

I didn't mean for this poem to turn out this way, all dirty and smut filled. I just wanted to tell you that I miss you and I love you even though I never said it.

I never thought it while we were together, but I think it now. At least this is what it looks like written down on paper. Almost as good as saying it. Maybe the same as feeling it.
This
Right.
Here.
The scratchy wool blanket has nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.