Angela Carlton

Dear You

I am caught up in the silence,
your web, those promises,
each one wicked. As I lay
in silk with you, trembling,
naked, cold, but warm from
your sweat and the heat in
your eyes, I think maybe this
one time, I will reach you.
Maybe this one time you won't
hide. You won't run. You won't
escape. But somebody always
leaves, don't they? And what
are we left with but space,
nothing.

Jaded, no rest, weary of
this, but still I come back.
Yes, dangling, but I find
a way to crawl. I find a way
to get to you, “I need to quit,”
I say, trembling. Again, I am
naked, head spinning under the
silk, only this time, I am
shivering. And where are you?
Where-where-where-where?
I need to know.

So this is the very day, the
moment, I break. There is too
much silence here, and all those
promises-promises-promises.
I have come undone now.
Look! Take a good hard
look, first love, before
you put me back together.
See. It’s tricky:

Here are the parts. Fix me.

CP

Angela Carlton's work has appeared or is forthcoming in Fiction at Work, Every Day Fiction, Longstoryshort, Pindeldyboz, The Dead Mule, among others.