Strange Bedfellows [09]: Love Triangle

Love Triangle

Nightly, he tosses in the lapped covers,
hears her voice in the in-between of sleep.

He searches her face with his fingers,
touches her bloated skin; every tic

tastes of whiskey, syllables slide
and distort on her tongue.

By day, he sees her cradled in speckled light.
She is strange and abstract.


He wanders through her labyrinth,
searching for his lost self inside her.

He buries her, not knowing she will stay
like a seed in his shadow, her salt tide pulling

beneath his feet, her beached breath
blistering his throat – he carries her inside him

like a hollow, her mouth opens
in his as he speaks.

He had loved what she was not. And when she left,
he loved what went: he is her earth chrysalis,

her flaxen mesh, she lies wrapped into his body,
folded and pressed like cold white sheets.

Her hands are his hands, the intricate network of bones.
She is stitched into his pockets, tight as a fist.

This is their triangle: him and her,
and the savage grey wolf festering at the door.

Our Poem of the Week submissions are now open for September, on the theme of It’s The End of the World As We Know It – click on link to the call for submissions page for more details. Closes Oct 15th.

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