you tricked me again,
in the dim light of your bedside
that suggested we make ourselves more at home
and be good to each other.

in the tangible encounters of our flesh
you shrink away like cellulose paper and
leave me clawing for someone to grip me to them
on the luckiest night of the year.
but i am just good means for your heightened esteem.
you want your party guests to see you go upstairs.

i am quite sure this is the last time
i rouse myself behind late-night closed doors and
walk the twelve blocks home with blurred vision.
a man on the street reaches out to me and
asks what's wrong, sinewy arms extended to
question who hurt a girl so bad, so hard, so late in the night
to send slurred street sashays into the open air bellowing for
someone to answer back.

dirty-faced boy
i would have given it all to you once,
and wrapped my sad legs round your
undeserving torso had you
not shamed me into dressing in the dark
before telling me you needed a full-night's sleep,
before letting me collect my coat and boots
and fall into the cold dilemma of a a thousand steps towards home
where the lights are on, but i am so alone.
11/12/2011

Posted on 11/12/2011
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer