Intimacy in the night,
gentle,
like butterfly to breast,
brutality
scratching its way to the surface
only later.
Episode 57 – The Freshman
One
where there were once
many, I take comfort
in the night, in the
creatures who
play there. Room most
familiar looms uncomfortably
large. Words form not
in my mouth, but
rush out the sides.
Phone rings a lost love’s
breath, no voice,
only darkness. Music
plays, something pink,
as bandits sift through my
memories. Parasol of past lives,
broken at my feet. For the cry
of one small creature,
I crash through the glass
to rest in the arms
of the familiar.