I lay in the impression your body once made in

our bed and wonder how long the pillow

will remain warm.

Silence only makes me hear you more, the

dark weight of the hours dragging behind me

as I pray to an altar built on the edge of my

despair.

Like a mad woman staring into her secrets, I

reach for you through the shadows wondering

how long I will remain a hope junkie.

The slam of the door doesn’t abate my hunger

for you, the veil on your lips now silent

follows my weariness, an infinite ache of alone.

Living becomes a stranger as I cling to remembering

what day it used to be. Your body a river, my addiction

that still yearns for a drink.

A desperate plea that falls on deaf ears makes it

clear to see when you left you administered the lash,

and I ended up eating the bitter bread of banishment.

paulygrl ©