I lay in bed ill from drugs and sickness, fevered dreams rob me of my rest, drown me in my past, waking me to a room empty of us and a pillow snuggled in beside me which no longer smells of you.
My heart shivers between beats in my chest, every muscle aches with foul exhaustion as my body struggles against natural and unnatural things alike. Memories, drugs, desires, the illness.
I press my face into the pillow, mismatched against all other decor. He's gone. Yet here. Within me.
For a moment, I let the fever take hold, I need its strength in my weakness. I let the fire burn through my mind, taking away the present, spinning me back into the past, to the man I love.
Down upon the carpet, he's tickled me till I can't breathe again, flipping me as I catch my breath so he can melt down beside me and piece together our curves, his cheek upon my neck, complaining how my hair tickles and kissing me just the same. He was like that, no matter how much he pretended, he was happy just to have me there. We were like that. We could make love to eath other without ever touching, sent the air all static-y like before the storms...
Then we were waking up together, the arm under my head snaking its way around me, pulling me in closer, his hand firm upon my hip so he could tip me over and back into him. His hands always hungry, as if demanding I give up my soul to him from one body to his as we touched.
That's how I knew he was real, always.
He laid me on my back this morning, kissing my lips, head in his hand, his other traversing my back, he knew I loved that. Then he'd slip down my back, following the curves down into my leg before lifting that up to meet his lips as well. He knew I never quite understood that. He'd kiss every inch of me, warm me in the night with the caress of his hands, sculpting the lover in his bed to the lover in his head.
The fever breaks and my mind falls slowly and gently back into place. Weak and sickly, I rise from my bed for the day. My son needs to be fed and washed. Exhaustion weaves a spell of dizziness and I sit back down upon my bed, weary already, as my son comes bouncing in requesting oatmeal.
He makes me smile, his impish little grin and puppy dog kisses are what eventually drag me from my unsteady perch to the kitchen. I'll be better soon, I'm sure. Just need to get through the day. After all, it's the fevers at night that give me rest.