Deathbed

Did a shadow pass
Before the glass?
Why stare?
For there is no one there.

His head
Upon the deathbed
Breathes her scent.
Should he repent
And if so, of what?

The bed is hot
Where the cold girl lay.
He finds a number
(Not her’s,
The one who is descending the stairs)
But the girl he texted yesterday.

Should he slumber
Or encumber
The bedpost with another notch,
A further blotch
On the once virgin sheet?

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