Bedsheets and Bones

The morning she woke with dried tears

coating her eyes,

she looked up and found you hovering above;

a shade, dappled light,

smooth as leather and refined.

Within a blink you were gone,

a crease in the bedsheets.



The day was empty;

filled with warm aromas baked inside,

sweetened air and memory-soaked touches.

She longed for the hot flush of fire underneath her cheeks,

fiery yet bestial movements flooding her skin;

she longed for you to taste her.

She awaited the night to come, its smooth and delicate arcs

and twists,

she waited for your mouth.



The night rolled on, listless and dreamless,

stale and crisp;

tasteless and burnt on the tongue.

You didn’t appear.

She stayed up, bruised and worn,

the night a heavy weight dragging down her skin.



In the whisps of shadows curled over the bed,

you broke through and into her rigid arms.

She didn’t make a sound.

You smelt like her, her skin coated yours like sickly icing;

that secret lover nestled between your walls, your arms, yours legs.



You retreated, like a spooked horse in the woods,

falling on brambles and thorns you allowed her to grow.

The wet of her body, the heated blood still shows on you;

she can feel it. She can touch you and know where you have been.

Where you have lied.



You creep along the walls, foot before foot trending on borders,

on sacred and cursed ground.

She heard her moans, your grunts a muffled symphony,

your forgotten affections wasted on the

purchase of skin and want, like spoiled milk.



The early morning, before the peek of sun.

You stand on the road, the chill tearing at your back.

She clawed your face and hurled you out.

The day dawns and burns your eyes as you leave.

Never to be seen or heard from again.

What did you hope for?

Did you want two lovers? Two women fawning

beyond your eyes, dewy and tender and ripe and yours

to pillage and conquer?

Lands to boast of, quests to complete?



The next day,

raw skin from hot water and perfumes a hazy

cloud around her form, she did her best to forget you.

She sat before the bed, in the cinders and ash of your feet;

she knelt down and raised her head.

Her eyes sparkled, kindled like new flame.

She was ready.

She cleared the battleground, and prepared.



For the days to come, before she would meet him;

the intoxication and the intensity she was ready to fall into.





*Artwork by Rene Magritte- “The Lovers II”*


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