It sleeps between us,
slipping out of bed unnoticed,
exposing my legs to the bitter air
of memory.
If I could just bring it out,
turn it over,
and have him label it,
then we could set it aside.
But it remains
hidden under the covers,
leaving me cold.
Yikes. What a sense of love and longing, and reconciliation in what the speaker cannot control. Sad, but also that hard wall of reality. Nicely captured.