This is just a story.

That first night you held me
Longer than I expected
And I fed off you in the night
Like a moss, I embraced your skin.

It’s the last night now
Dry and disappointing,
Like the heel on a bread loaf,
This is what’s left.

...................................................

Extricating my body from yours,
You pulled out in multiple ways last night
And we slept as though I was not there
(the empty comfort of cuddling air)

I beg you to
Hold me lover.
I have no need of blankets
Give me the palms of your hands to wrap around.
Why is this bed such a desolate ground?

Posted by Alissa McCourt at 12:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Like the insect rustling across my blanket,
Your memory spooked me from sleep.
And I shook, holding my pillow like a weapon,
Keeping watch in the dark.
I am alone now,
With books as bedtime companions.
I hand feed myself when necessary,
Nursing back the appetites you took when you left.
The insects gone, it dissolved into the dark,
Oblivious to the damage its entrance provoked.
I thought I’d left this fear behind,
Filed away with all those other childhood irrationalities.
But now when I dream, you hold me,
and your kisses shake me awake into dangers I never anticipated.
Leave the light on love.
I vacate the bed in favor of a more naïve companion.
Curling into the couch, I give in to your ghost.
This room is yours. Take it.
I acquiesce.

Posted by Alissa McCourt at 12:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)