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hypothermia of the heart
by Angela Thomashe stood on the back of my leg while i kicked
and begged to stop, the side of the bed digging
into my soft flesh like a knife grabs a delicate
fruit. there was no post-coital cuddle or a smile
left on my face, only a throbbing where before
there was none. i must have showered at least
six times the next day. it wasn't the whiskey
stain, my greasy hair, or whatever else could
have been described as dirty. tori played over
the speakers. i blamed chris for not picking up
his phone, myself for drinking too much, lance
for not coming to town, leaving me at that bar
drowned in a tall-boy and in need of comfort.
instead, i gave. until i was done. and then he took. 01/28/2012 Posted on 01/29/2012
Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Shannon McEwen on 01/29/12 at 08:47 PM this punches me right in the gut, your words have quite an impact. Good write |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 12/10/12 at 03:21 AM Every one needs someone to hold or be held by sometimes, that feeling of giving in to a need without remorse at least until the next morning. Age has nothing to do with it. The need can come and go thoughout life and given the chance we'll reach for the feeling. |
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