I hold my pillow close,
But it doesn't feel the same.
Too soft, too cool, too still.
You always had prickly stubble.
Always felt like the fire to my ice.
Could never lie still, even if you tried.
But what feels the most alien,
Is that I'll never feel it again.
Not the 5 o'clock shadow.
Nor the lava-like body,
Constantly twitching next to mine.
Gone.
YOU ARE READING
Random Poems
PoetryRandom poetry I write. I usually get the urge to crank out some poems when I can't sleep, so feel free to point out spelling errors! instagram: brokenheartwriter
