The Bed Still Smells of You

I wake to the music of your voice.
Even though you’re gone,
You’re buried in my brain,
Haunting me, taunting me
With exquisitely painful memories.

The bed still smells of you,
Of us, as we made love
That one last aching time,
Knowing all that would remain
Is the memory of your warmth.

“Please, do this for me,”
You pleaded, lowering yourself,
Guiding me to familiar folds
That gushed with raw emotion
Mixed with liquid fire.

Moving in familiar rhythm
That frequent lovers understand,
I tried to whisper sweet endearments
In between my panting breaths.
But you were somewhere far away.

You came with little cries and whimpers,
Tears tracing down your flushing cheeks.
And for the first time after loving
Your eyes somehow avoided mine.
Only seeing what comes next.

But this was not really making love,
Instead a bittersweet goodbye,
When we could not find the words
To sum up this shared life of ours.
And the bed still smells of you.