After

My fingers barely touch the surface,
As I tattoo my name across his skin, his sweat my ink.
Bury my face in his chest; he breathes in, I breathe out.
He gently removes my arms and places them on the bed, gets up.
I curl up into a ball, suddenly cold.
An emptiness overwhelms me,
and I can’t think, can’t speak.
Even the pain of a few moments ago
fades in the face of this new numbness.

He calls out to me; a question,
“Are you ok?” and I don’t answer.
Can’t answer. Don’t know.
Asks again, and I whisper, “Give me a minute.”
Try to put my head together,
will my body to motion. But nothing.
Is this sadness? Anger? Hurt? Need? I can’t tell.

Pulls the cover over my nakedness, tucks me in like a child. A little better. Hold me?
Crawls back in, dressed up. Pulls me in.
Searches my face. I wonder what he finds there.
I move my cold toes between his legs, trying to get warm.
He says, “It’s ok to talk about sex you know.”
“Ok” I say. And no more.

How to tell you? That my body aches, still empty.
That it hurt, but no more than the thought of losing you.
That you tried to be gentle, but still broke me?

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