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She wakes in water that is cold enough
to cut the dreaming cloth. The scissor

of shivers tingles her spine, a signature
of ghosts, a longing for warm skin -

and him, within the tangle of sheets, his arms
hugging pillows, clothes huddled

with hers. She knuckles soap, scrubs, drys. Quietly
closes the shower door. Separates

her things, her scents, her dreams from his. She dresses,
undresses, snuggles next to him

knowing outside the mizzle of bleary voices
gather to clothe a straying ghost.

 

original

She wakes in water that is cold enough
to cut the dreaming cloth. The scissor

of shivers tingles her spine, a signature
of ghosts, a longing for warm skin -

and him, within the tangle of sheets, his arms
hugging pillows, clothes huddled

with hers. She knuckles soap, scrubs, drys. She dresses,
undresses, whispers close to him.

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Perhaps detachment isn't the right word, but there's a sense that she's with him yet somehow she's not. She

On ‎9‎/‎6‎/‎2018 at 2:17 PM, badger11 said:

… Separates

her things, her scents, her dreams from his.

She dresses, undresses, yet still outside are those ghosts who would dress her. Other forces at work? Intriguing.

Tony

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