I used to love the cold nights, The nights so cold outside that I could feel it in my nice warm house. When she was here we’d get under the covers And we’d talk, Her body up against mine emanating heat. I’d fall asleep after she did and I’d sleep through the night. Tonight is a night so cold that I can feel it in here, In this nice warm room Where I am under the covers alone, Almost feeling the heat of her flesh But not quite And not really. It’s a phantom feeling, like the memory of an amputation. I itch where my amputated parts used to be And remain unsatisfied as there is nothing to scratch. I used to love the cold nights When she and I would get under the covers In a nice warm house, Our bodies so close as we talked softy. She used to hold me I used to hold her We used to hold each other. We used to hold each other And talk and then we’d sleep through the night. I don’t love the cold nights the way I used to.
About the Poet:
John Tustin has not forgiven her or forgotten her. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.