Poetry

In The Wrong Arms

The lamplight dimly spread to the corners of the room, where shadows hide and appear in our faces and cover our bodies. I only took quick glances at his face, I do not think I looked into his eyes, not knowing if they were blue, brown, or green. Read More

The lamplight dimly spread to the corners

of the room, where shadows hide and appear

in our faces and cover our bodies.

I only took quick glances at his face,

I do not think I looked into his eyes,

not knowing if they were blue, brown, or green.

 

Once again, I fell into the wrong arms,

trying to self-medicate loneliness.

Love and lust join hands, waltzing together.

The waltz goes on and on, but I cannot

name the tune or tell the dancers apart.

But none of it matters in the darkness,

I can close my eyes and pretend to see

a cleaner dance, one that makes sense to me.

 

The man in my bed looks at me dumbly,

“That was great.”

“Uh huh.”

“We should get drinks.”

“No.”

“Why not?

“I don’t drink.”

“Why not?

“Cause I don’t”

 

I sit on the edge of my bed, staring blankly.

The void is ever expanding, dancing

with the shadows cast by the mocking light.

He begins to get dressed without any words.

I sit with my back turned, thinking of words.

I dread this moment, once the lust expires.

We have lingered for far too long. And though

I’m always left wanting more, soon I will be closing the door.

Is it really better to keep doors closed?

Or maybe open them, just a slight crack?

To reach out and say, “Please oh please don’t go.

I am so, so alone. Stay with me here.”

 

I dress myself and walk him out. He says

“See ya.”

I don’t look in his eyes or watch his back

for too long as I shut the apartment door.

I turn the lamplight off and look outside,

as if night holds the answers I seek.

Perhaps it is time to get some real help.

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