Before going to sleep,
I realized I was missing more
than just your body next to mine.

I realized I’ve forgotten
the sound of your voice,
where your tattoos are,
the taste of your kiss,
and the scent of your perfume.

I can’t remember
the last time we talked,
or how excited I used to get
when I heard that special tone
you used to message me.

I forgot the way to your house,
because that part of the city
is just a ghost town now,
haunted by our memories.

I forgot your touch—
your fingers tracing up and down my back,
the texture of your hair in my hands,
the sound of your moans
whispered against my ear.