[Image from Pinterest]
[Inspired by Low’s “Lullaby”:]
His absence tangible
in the rumpled duvet moulded to her form,
she shifts, stretches,
careful not to erase his presence.
Memory of night before
still clings to her flesh, air caresses her,
sending goosebumps over her body;
the thought of his lips moving up
and down her skin.
Fingers grip a pillow, as her fist
had grabbed at his hair. Why morning?
Why so short the night? Why
this tangible absence? So many
questions. She sighs, eyes open
to stark white of the room,
to colder person she’d been before
him. Determinedly closed.
Colour: she needs colour now, some
external display of inner content.
So predictable. She chucks off the duvet
in shame at girlish musings.
Tonight, she’d say no.
Whisper of his lips on her neck, her ear, her hair
makes resolve more difficult; knees weak.
Disgust at herself propels her to the door.
Whatever he said, there would be no encore.
[Copyright © N R Nolan 2016]