white sheets

My soul is trapped
in your white sheets

We talk of time and things dear
your breast half-exposed untouched
but dreadfully near

The dawn beckons something new
taunting, teasing, tempting
me away from the comfort

of your white sheets
a thousand times I’ve
turned away from your familiar

touch grown cold
a strand of hair falls
across your tired face

I reach; you pull
we bend and twist
in your white sheets

Never coming closer
than the space between
the pillows

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *