Killing Time
An arm, heavy across my breasts,
steals the day from beneath worn sheets
and when I look at him
I feel you
tapering into pockets of darkness.
I have been stripped down
by time and an unquenchable thirst for gin —
your memory on my skin:
that unconquerable something.
Maybe one day
you’ll do me again
like a bleary-eyed drunk
plundering what we left behind
(residing in parenthesis).
Cover photo by Bernadetta Watts