Four corners

I lay to sleep,
and crease the deftly folded sheets
where once a fair a fiery heat
had shared the bare and naked splendour
that rocked the pulse and room with pleasure.

I hold the pillow,
hot and cold within my arms,
the kiss and bite between my palms
that both conflicts and keeps me calm
but fails to bring me from my woe.

Four corners never felt so far apart,
and here I lie,
caught amidst the sew and seams
where dreams now fill the space, not you.
Who knew how fast this feeling grew?

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