Three Days Later

I am too miserable to sleep.
I am knotted into a small, impenetrable ball
because lying on my front I kept thinking
about his hands on my shoulders,
sliding muscles around like dominoes
and lying on my back I kept thinking
about the ceiling of his bedroom,
and lying on my side I kept thinking
about spooning, lying together
in a thick, sweaty soup.
I can’t take a shower because he was there, too,
and on the sofa watching bad movies,
and in the car with my keys
when I was too sleepy to drive,
and on the playground
eating cookies on the swings.