I could spend my life behind closed lids

& bundled in your old sweatshirt, soaking

in your smell–why didn’t I ever learn

the type of aftershave you used?–

pretending I’m wrapped in your arms.

I could spend my life under closed lids

& leave the photographs in boxes–

two-dimensional images won’t bring you back–

next to your favorite running shoes.

I could spend my life inside closed lids

but not in this bed, in these sheets,

where you last kissed me on the forehead

before leaving for work–I can’t handle

these emotions, want to bottle them up.

I could have spent the rest of my life with you

but now I’ll settle for closed eyelids.