at shiftering, rattled footpads
pressed ‘gainst warped 
wood floor, i inward jump, 
heart knocking dry throat. 

in your flannel soft nightwear,
creeping slow to knock my 
door, you-


just needed to use the bathroom and,
why is your light still on?

breathy sigh caught 
half hard on my front teeth,
i, mumbler for you, grit hard.
my jaw is tired. 

when you skinny your eyes so quick 
i heave ever-close against the 
sweated precipice of wracked vomit. 
my head still hurts. 

fluttered eyelash can’t make up 
for sweet talked dogs and
ill willed son. 
i want to cry sometimes. 

but i remember your animal 
sobs, chafing the edge 
of my room while you salted
undrunk tea, 
and hold my breath tight.

no rough horned 
ram will batter, charge, 
through hard shut eyes.