Something Nathan said that made me wonder where you went

January 15, 2017

rough-love

“Sometimes I fall in love with the wrong furniture.”
Ottomans instead of nightstands, I’m guessing, lamps instead
of chests of drawers. Upholstered loveseats versus
built-in bookshelves — spiral stairwells — the act versus
the shun. I cringe at writing silence — but mornings break, fog
wisps through summer streets, and I am alone
on a porch in a wicker chair. Night is calling
me and it’s not even sunset yet. We both hold a lot of screaming in
our shut mouths, raw around the lips from every night before.
Raspy voices are like soul scars, I told you before you
drove off into the dead light. The body is an afternoon
without plans, this air an electric current, the outdoor sconce
above your address a percolator for dirty magic between springs
on a mattress, between our bodies and the constellations,
which, I read, were once our bodies, too. It’s why, even if
there is nothing else to do, we ought to at least sit together.

Allison Leigh

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