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I do not return to saturday mornings waking on his skin

warm in tangled blankets

seshes at 3 am

kisses from lips that speak easy of love



instead i return to grayness

because i never lived a life without him

i return to my own bed/

and its sheets might feel cold alone...



but he no longer speaks easy of love

his lips no longer grace softness on my body

he is all hardness now,

says he's like my father- a quick, cold, mean

sort of man

says he's like my father-

well i do not love him



i do not love him, although i wish i did

so i could sink into something safe

but he is not safe on saturday mornings

he is hard and far away

while i sleep alone in cold sheets