samantha maren


pause, the slow drop 

In the spaces between daily responsibilities

in transit to my life’s works

when I do not have reception

when everyone else seems to be asleep except for me

you come back


pass brand new times

when you held my hand and I scratched your back

enchanted by even your tiny, gapped teeth

between which toffee-sweet words fed me

Then soon I am scrambling out of your sleeping arms hungover again

I want coffee.

I want to get back to the other side

before you pressed your body against me and covered my mouth with your hand

your ragged breaths like daggers

It comes back to me in the quiet undisturbed spaces:

That crawling under my skin. A shivering of the tenderest of timbers.