Poetry

Evening / Night / Morning

Part I: Evening
Hands held under a blanket,
sitting too close together
in a crowded room.
And she’s nervous.
My paper skin catches
on her tattered nails.

Part II: Night
We’re screaming truths in our heads,
whispering lies into darkness,
our hushed lips sharing ill-fated wishes,
our secrets safely lost in the tangled sheets.

Part III: Morning
In the morning she’s pulling on jeans
telling me she saw God in her dreams.
I ask, “What does she look like?”
“What does she look like?”
Her eyes are sad, confused,
when she looks at me,
and that’s all the answer I need.
That’s all the answer I need.

She leaves while I’m washing
her lipstick off my neck.
The front door rattles,
fragile,
on its hinges.

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