La Petite Mort

In hotel rooms where
mattresses
are firmer than
and sheets
yellow when
we fall between
the crevice of
our
sex
is only
step away
around
that sharp corner where
shoulders and
toes mark
the very end
of your
bed is so
like an army cot
and we are caught
in a crevice
a canyon
cracks
in yellow sheets
and yellowing
like old skin
you touch me and
coming like
falling
on me like
some ancient ceiling
and all I can close
are my eyes
are in your head
when I open them
when I open
and you fall in.

– Published in Syracuse Poems © Marylou DiPietro

2016-07-11T15:42:26+00:00