sheets

the ghost of last winter
rests in the wicker chair
with a just-big-enough fleece blanket
draped over its toes.
it sips on a steaming cup
and drops its head low.
she comes over to comfort him--
rubbing his neck.
she too leans down and
lets her lips brush and then
linger
on his cheek.
she lets him rub away the lipstick.
words are lost.