Empty Sheets

James Abbott McNeill Whistler
Art by James Abbott McNeill Whistler

I don’t know what to do with this.
I have no tangible thing to keep you in,
no keepsake, no box, no case.
You exist in the space that you left,
void and seared in my memory.
When I close my eyes,
I see the freckles of your back,
constellations and roads I would travel down,
my hands and mouth,
adventures for only you and me.
And now as I lay in the sheets,
(still twisted by your body)
I can almost feel your fingertips
and the warmth of your breath on my neck

Laying in these empty sheets, I realize
You are not here and your absence haunts me.

Poem by Jessica Grace Sparks

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