Death sex

there are moments we make decisions, unsure why,

perhaps following patterns of behavior, comforting ourselves with the familiar.

it was like that, on the porch, in his apartment, after it ended.

sex as a death rattle, deep in the chest,

the last breath of an already dead relationship.

there is a longing there, but not for that.

for explanations never given, apologies stuck in the throat

even now, envelopes remind me of all you were unable to provide.

silence familiar to me, from men who never learned how to live

from fathers who ran and never answered their little daughters’ questions

from you, unable to face yourself, and give those you tried to pull apart along the way

the truth you need, and they deserve.

silence as deafening as the last breath.

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s