Genesis of your love

I kept turning and twisting.

To find
that comforting bump
in the feathery mattress.
I miss your arms.
The hollow of my waist
lies empty.
I miss the way
your arms
lay defenceless, not holding
but held.
A perfect fit.

To find
the softest corner
in the willowy pillow.
I miss your chest.
The hollow of my cheeks
lies empty.
I miss the way
your chest
rose in harmonious breathing
rhythmic to mine,
to cushion the hollows of my cheeks.

To find
the perfect curve
in the ‘other’ pillow.
I miss your back.
The heels of my palms
lay flat
across this plain terrain,
nothing to hold onto
to cling to.
I miss the way
your curves and the moulds
are made
to fill my empty hands
in an effortless embrace.

To find
the missing angles
in the tangles
of my bedsheet.
I miss your legs.
My legs fighting in vain
trying to fit
one on another.
No matter,
it cannot have the same angles
as your legs.

I kept twisting and turning
in the dark consuming night.
My body
among pillows, mattress and bedsheet
and yet alone.
Missing, aching for yours.

But all the pain
this missing has to offer,
my body will willingly suffer.
If only,
at the break of the dawn,
when I flicker
my lashes to clear
the hazy morning blur,
to find myself gazing in
your eyes.
The genesis of all the love
your body silently offers.