For years my hands have been wrapped
around a glass but I’m three days sober
and there is nothing pretty about that as
I turn up to his doorstep; weather-beaten
and covered in flaxen dust from the many
roads I have taken to find my way there.
He takes a damp cloth and with careful
hands wipes away the years that sweat
from the empty cracks between my skin.
Our words are superseded with kisses;
his lips become a barricade that keeps
my fear from spilling onto the ground.
There is a part of me (the part that was
brave enough to tip my last bottle down
the drain) that tells me I should go kneel
before an altar and pray hail mary’s to
God, but religion could never calm the
destruction inside me the way he can,
and even though I made a promise to
him that last time would be the last, we
come together, flesh on flesh; desperate.
Again and again I lose myself in him until
the thirst is no longer a lion clawing at my
throat, until my darkness is hushed by the
constellations mapped inside of his eyes.
Our bodies stay wrapped in the seclusion
of one another and I tell him this time will
be the last, for we are lovers whose hands
are too splintered from the cross we both
carry to hold each other safe, but we have
always been the same, trading addictions
for one other instead; grasping not for our
satisfaction, but our escape.
~ ©️ Kathy Parker // My Sweetest Downfall ~
Day Six #poemadayfeb: Escape