The Unmade Bed

The Unmade Bed

Sheets rumpled, shape

of your body, smell

of your skin.

I lie down on the bed

remember

frolicking

on those sheets,

scented candle,

Frank Sinatra,

tender spoken words.

In the kitchen I brew

chamomile tea

still feel the glow

of your touch,

passion of evening.

in the bedroom

I stare at the bed,

if only I could shake

the sheets, plump the

pillow, fluff the comforter

create the music we shared again.