Here
lie
I
trapped upon this
godless tundra
your abandonement has made of these sheets
restrained by unshed tears
thumping behind hot eyelids
that burn live images of you
into the darkness that should be sleep
that mocks rest
with the memory of your lean body
nails, lips, teeth
on fevered, sweating flesh
panting breath
struggling to make sense of a name
Am I demanding a reprieve?
Or begging you to never stop?
Memory mocks the darkness that should be sleep
The hours that would be rest
These games we play mutate
What was once temptation
longing becomes torture
the feather mattress where we
tumbled and tested and cried and came
Becomes the rack
where my limbs are twisted
and stretched
and torn
and broken
for the love of you.

05/03/2004

Author's Note: The title is not my thing. But ~shrug~ I was told recently that "every piece deserves a title"

Posted on 05/03/2004
Copyright © 2025 Teri T Lahmon