she has left
but still in this
room looking at me
wondering why I look
at her why she looks
at me.
her skin
the act the belief
in her desire
reached into
my mind
in me.
always to want
four brown walls
that room
with a mattress
without a frame
not asking for
the roundness
of her head
how perfect night
of the window
her leg lazy.
her voice,
“calling
to tell you
not
to come over”
ever again.
the lacking
the echo
the breathing
the sound
the gasps
we made
in between walls
of a room so small
in a short time ago.