Heat

I sleep with my hands

pressed to my chest,

trying to hold in

what little warmth remains.

Like a winter bird,

folding into itself.

Each morning, colder.

Each morning, smaller.

The radiator hums to life.

Warm air rises.

Still, the heat

inside me fades away.

They say the body

forgets pain. But mine

remembers your temperature—

98.6 degrees of absence.