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The Pillows Make Me Miss Him

July 11, 2006

I stripped the sheets, I washed my skin, but the pillows still smell like him

The couch cushions, now off the floor, are back where they belong,
My apartment, mostly as it was before, yet still he lingers on

I’ve cleaned, I’ve dusted and hid away most evidence of the tryst

The fridge refilled, the dishes clean, the garbage taken out
But his essence, still it clings, to pillows of my doubt

I wonder why he came and went, I stop, to cry, to breathe, to think

The towel he used is clean and dry, no razor by the sink
And the dirt, his feet brought by, now vacuumed and extinct

But in the pillows, where he slept, the familiar still remains

After his flight, the work was all, to get him out of me
But, for my attempts, and all the toil, the pillows retain the scent of he

What did, what does, what could he want, if it isn’t we?

I tried being strong, tried moving on, to push him all away,
But when it’s night, I’m in that bed, and it smells like he’s on me

The traitor nose reminds me of moments coiled in his arms

My brain reacts, I feel the flash, the rush of skin on skin
The brutal truth, it hits me then, we are doomed for this sin

But, I grieve his absence now, because my pillows smell like him.

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