“Come back to bed,”
like a phantom, eager
to pull me in and
hold me ransom.
Our past just so raw
I can roll it around on my tongue, sinewy
sepia memories and a history so faded
I can’t make out those people in the shot
embedded forever in film
I swear I may have seen before
a lifetime ago.
I’ve learned not to
seek refuge from those who
refused me in the rain
but did let me in when the sun shined.
Finding yourself tangled again
familiar bedsheets and instinctual fingers
remember that your own hands held the umbrella
that kept you from the storm,
not someone else’s promise that
this time, it’s different.