Empty Beds

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I miss the human warmth,

in all of these connections.

A soul laying weight besides,

un-tethered in its cryptic glory.

the feel of a gentle cheek,

on the hurting trembling chin.

A wave of flowing hair,

caressing the fingertips of sin.

When exactly did I stumble this far beyond?

Seeking warmth in an ocean of glacial spawn.

Where exactly does my rest belong?

Searching aethers for the ever-gone.

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OCD

this post is a response to a daily prompt here

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Empty streets

unladen sheets.

Raw and crisp

untainted by heat.

Youthful joy,

unwritten defeats.

Tremor-less fortunes

on a blank writhing cheek.