Our Bed...

Our bed holds the memory of you. The pillows that cradled your tumble of brown curls spilling out like root beer holds a gentle dent still. Tea coloured sheets on your side of the bed are rumpled in the shapes of your limbs. 

 The scent of you is steeped into the mattress. The oil slowly pressed onto your skin now sponged as you turned beneath me. The weight of our two bodies as you opened yourself up to me pressed our lovemaking into the bed  

This bed knows our sighs and moans. This bed knows our whispers and our cries. This bed knows our tears and it knows our laughter. This bed knows us tender and slow and it knows us desperately  shaking and clawing. ‎This bed knows the very best of us and had sheltered us from our worst.   

But in this early morning our bed remembers you and won't let me forget. I will lay here and remember your long white limbs, the soft round of your bum, the strength of your shoulders, I will remember the feel of your breasts and the arch of your back as my kisses traced below your navel.   I will remember your breath on my neck and tumbling into your eyes. 

Our bed holds your memory in fading scent. And it awaits your return.