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I haven't thought that far ahead. heart

this is the last time I will ever mention satan


I am sliding serpentine
into sleep.
A waning sunlight slithers
across the crisp sheets
and pools around my exposed bare foot.
The cross that hangs around his neck
presses against my skin;
makes an imprint
on my right shoulder
that I will never notice.

A dream skitters out-

A child a moth
with floating, flapping
faces reaching down
to where I am ensconced
in a watery chamber of confusion,
grasping my lackluster hand flopping against
and pulling me down into fresh,
weeping wounds.
Wrench free and twist away
but my wrist is snatched back
with snake-like quickness. the ceiling
Then I gasp into wakefulness;
my eyes settling immediately
on the white moth flapping helplessly-
tick-tick-tick of wings slapping plaster.

Press, suffocation of hot air
and the silky sheets
clinging like frightened shadows.
His breath soft and almost sour
brushes my cheek harmlessly;
I move like a shade of myself, slipping off
of the bed, leaving the moth to
fight the walls.

and I pat-pat to the kitchen
on my flat toes
to find comfort
in cold, leftover linguini.