The Bed Empty; the Floor Waxed with Moonlight | Ariana D. Den Bleyker

He leans into the girl on the right, smile tucked in
between the words of his angled jaw & I imagine
writing his introduction, his lips moving, me mis-
speaking his name. That I could lay my arms down
beneath him praying not to be christened & he’d
never speak of this. I cannot see anymore.
That I’m the things he’s forgotten, the disbelief
in God, in scars. That our mouths are filled
with permanence, heavy with moisture, weighted
down, wet & wayward. How quickly love ripens
then grieves. I want to be the space between
sunset & sunrise, a place where sleep wraps
itself around curves of bone & sinew, the sharp
of it handing my heart to me, reddened with teeth-
marks, drained, willing to make whole the desperate
parts. That I’ll keep what’s decent, won’t dance,
sing with the crowd, feel the music open my ears.
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