Night of the Flowered Sheets

There is the bed with the sheets thrown back

And every time I pass by the bed I am longing,

The sweet scent of starch and summer.

I could spend the day in those sheets

Naked

Turning over onto my belly and then up on my back

Breathing in the silence of the morning

Then the evening

Running my hand over the edge of my hip

Remembering the feel of an earlobe

Each minute slows to the breath of a spider

There is no sound

I stretch

Languid caress of sheet on skin,

Memories pass over and under the soft ,filtered light.

I feel nothing here just the slow

Sensual beat of hours passing

And no one knowing  where I am.