We lie under the same sky,
watch it wrinkle and
bruise like
plums under a ripe sun.
We lie in your bed,
the same bed that
had once been ours.
The bed you used to
call from languidly
For tea and your
Grey night shirt and
the salty smell
of your hair,
crinkled against you.
Now –
the smell,
I don’t recognise.
Morphine and cloth
worn too long, too
close to the body.
Sweet-sick and
I listen to the hum of
your breath; a quiet
rasp that dips
and wavers.
I listen to the hum
of your body,
mother-warm and
a gentle tune,
that has played since
the very beginning.
Your body has unwoven,
Now it rests
in the shadows of
negative space.
Your voice is the
same, just softened.
Like it’s coming 
from the depths
of deep water.
When I close my eyes
I find I can’t remember what
it sounded like,
before –

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