There is a bed
soft with our heat,
the hollow of your body
still warm when you rise.
There is a bed
where breath and skin
entangle like ivy,
night’s membrane pressing
against our joined shadows.
There is a bed
where the air speaks of salt,
where the sheets remember
how we burned,
how we moaned.
There is a bed
where we sweat past sleep,
our dreams slick with touch,
the scent of our hours
thick in the dark.
There is a bed
where fever shook me.
You brought cool water,
the candle bent,
the air grew rank.
There is a bed
where you sleep tonight,
eyes tight, breath shallow,
my lips on your throat.
You shiver.
You murmur my name.
My hand on your chest
longs for your heartbeat.
For I have none.
Thorn and Benediction 
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