When you leave me, I burrow down
into the warmth of my comforter and breathe
in the scent of your absence, which is
the lingering scent of your presence.
With each breath I shape thick flannel
into a faint intimation of your body's
easy rest on mine; I patch the soft warmth
of your hands into a map of your purposes.
When you let me go, each part of me you held
releases a small sigh; a smaller noise
than the farewell I'll never have words for.