My Bed Has Lost Its Arms

Without you here to lie down
next to me, I dread night's fall.
As if the sound of your good-bye
had turned sleep to an enemy.
My bed has lost its arms; its
comfort gone away with you.

I press your pillow to the shape
of you and synchronize my breathing
to the silent air. My heart beats
without counterpart. My sheets
their coolness keep to wake with me.
My body's meager curve of warmth
can scarcely blot it out.

I lie unnested by your flesh,
hoard lifeless blankets to my
hollowness and rise, unrested,
long before the sun, unheld.

-- Deb Cooper

Send Comments to Greg Gordon MD, CFI, cydoc@earthlink.net
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