The Cold Spot

At night I reach over to your side of the bed - that cold spot with its frozen memories. The warmth of my hand brings them out of their icy suspension. I can almost feel your nipple growing hard between my fingers. Thawed memories and maybe flawed memories begin to mix in with my body's involuntary muscle twitches and my random mental twitches - until your side of the bed freezes up again.

This poem was originally published at http://www.qarrtsiluni.com
There is a link to it at the right side of this page.