You are not in my bed
But you are still
In my sheets
I have tried to
Wash you out
By cleaning them
But it just isn’t
There is not a
Laundry machine
In the world
That could rid you
From the fabric
Of where we used to lay
Molded by the formation
Of our pressed bodies
Stained with sweat
Our sex,
A pathetic excuse
For intimacy
It was not love
But whatever it was
Is gone now
I have tried to
Erase you
From the pattern
Of the blanket
I sleep with
It is the only
Warmth I have left
We used to drift off
Wrapped up in
Each other’s skin
Holding to shake
The fear from
Our bones
The inevitability
Of tomorrow
We were never
Made to last
You faded
Right before
My eyes
Everything your hands
Have ever touched
Of mine
Still has your prints
On it
The material
Can’t let you go
And neither can I.

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