Original Poem:
Stretching
I miss the colors of your bed sheets wrinkled in the bends of you
Whenever I lounge around on pajama bottom days
I miss the way your torso hands the conversation
Over to your thighs
Whenever I walk miles with heavy backpacks
In directions that are not toward you
I hear you brushing your teeth in my dreams
But I wake to find myself much further from your bathroom
Than across the hall
Still I throw the backpack to the ground
And stretch my legs
Brush my teeth
And slip into bed
Knowing that every once in a while
I will slip perfectly into your complimentary
Curves and bends
Agreeing with your body
And soak up moments to miss
Couplets
I miss the color of your sheets in bends
Of you and me - I cannot see our ends
I miss the way your torso hands the mic
Over to your ever thankful soft thighs
Whenever I walk miles with my heavy
Bags that seem to nowhere near you lead
Whenever I am ‘sleep I hear you brush
Your teeth but wake and run to hallway – rush
I find myself again left all alone
It was a dream and you still are not home
Accentual/Alliterative
I miss the colors of your quilts
I miss the bends defending themselves
Against the onslaught of our skin
I carry backpacks that have
Nothing but forgotten heavy things
All over this never ending map
Realize that I am rarely led towards
You. I am rarely headed
Towards your quilts
And how they bend to receive you.
Cinquain (Crapsey Style)
I watch
The way your sheets
Creep themselves into our
Resting, stress-free silhouettes and
Hold on.
