covered in hot water & onslaught,
broken like the bed we used to make it
in, I wanted to
skin myself
to get rid of your fingerprints
but I didn’t want to be noticed
instead, I sat cross-legged
under the shower
for forty five minutes
to steam some of it out.
it was a waste of water,
you might have said.

I usually go to bed by nine pm
swathed in cheap sheets I picked up
from a trash can: moth-bitten
and low thread count and I washed them
but you’re right it’s a sense of self-deprivation
I wrap myself tightly inside every night,
tortured by my low self worth,
absent flowers, cold feet,
lamp on next to me and
wax all over the unfinished table
you were making
before I threw the chair you had finished
down the stairs to get you to
open up.
here is what I need,
I might have screamed
but it ended in a soft bite to your
neck and a cloying kiss
you can tell has been rehearsed before.
it’s heavy;
my tongue flush with
little darted lullabies.

I’m up now and I
linger in the hallway,
nothing in my hand,
wave in my throat,
watching the front window,
voice hushed and brusque
and barely noticeable
when I finally move to speak,
to make my command on Earth,
withdrawing as it creeps
from it’s host,
like low tide,
like you,
your sudden



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