cars pass over, throwing water only to be heard dimly, here, in my room.

she's gone, driving away, on a trip,

leaving the room silent and huge.

i want to lower my head between her breasts, between her arms, into her warmth, and feel her heartbeat on the rim and folds of my ear.

but she is gone tonight and tomorrow, leaving me with traces of her.

if i close my eys she is there, stomach down, back beautiful in its expanse, the width of which would take my hands years to cover.

the mole centered almost perfectly between shoulderblades is pressed, clothed, against a car seat.

the blankets weigh down, the wind hushes, and the rains smattering becomes louder.