your eyes
are sometimes
all I can think of
when I lie here alone
at night
in the bed
we used to share

I remember your gaze
vulnerable
trusting intense
your irises
not quite green
not quite brown
ringed in gray
reminding me of
a stormy seas

your mouth
is sometimes
all I can think of
when I wake
to the awareness
that your side of the bed
is still cold
empty

I remember how I used
to run my thumb
across your full bottom lip
savoring the moment
before leaning in
for your warm morning kiss

your hand
is sometimes
all I can think of
as I sit alone on the sofa
watching the shows
we used to share

I remember the faint scars
on your knuckles
from a dust-up on your bicycle
how our fingers
used to intertwine
as if they had been made
to nest together

your skin
is sometimes
all I can think of
as I do the wash up
remembering the lovely
curve of your neck
your tattoo peeking out of
your collar

I remember how I used
to come up behind you
breathe in your scent
before nuzzling my face
against your soft
warm skin

your laugh
is sometimes
all I can think of
as I walk
these city streets
without you
by my side

I remember the way
you would toss
back your head
eyes crinkling
your mirth uncontained
making me laugh too

your heart
is sometimes
all I can think of
as I learn
to live
without you

it used to be
the place
where I lived
your absence
is a presence
you are nowhere
and everywhere still
to me

© 2017 Revised © 2020 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved