Moonlight and the Sound of Falling

Oh, my fingers how they pressed so deeply into your flesh
And how you reached, how you ached for me.

I am here in a room I don't recognize, beside me
a woman breathes deeply in her rest and I lie awake
my arm draped around her

Nights like this I remember you, your perfume
Your skin damp with perspiration and my kisses
remember being pressed together
as if the closer we got, the less we could be taken apart

The moonlight tumbles in over her flesh
her hair splayed across my chest, and her pillow
and I think how atrocious, how wrong
how wrong that this lover is not you, that I can't even
remember where I am

I've searched for you in the faces of other lovers
yearned for you against lips that were not yours
their kisses were never the same.

It's funny...

the empty vodka bottle beside the bed
I cannot make love to another woman sober anymore
your intoxicating presence can't be matched
no matter

how much I drink, no matter how
I try to pretend her flesh is yours
her kisses
her sweet form bent against mine
in the moonlight.

It feels cheap, filthy, I feel no more than
a hooker in a dirty a motel room
In this place I've never known yet
looks so much like the other places I have been

an Irish flag hangs on the wall

her hair is deep red, not like yours
her hair is bright like fire, spread across my arm
but the irony is

you set me on fire with heat like the sahara
with just a breath

but she...
she's all wrong.  her kisses her body stiff
she says...
I'm too rough
it's been a while

she's not you, doesn't feel
like you
she says I'm too rough
and when I tease she
gets angry.

she's not you.

I remember how it always seemed to be perfect, every time
every hour spent laid in bed together soaking in the sweetness
it seemed natural, like the flowing of river to the sea
or musical notes

that's what it was like
a symphony in my bed rising and falling
building to the point where

you draw in your breath, grasp at my arm
bury your teeth in my skin to silence the inevitable
sound of falling

You look surprised that someone could
know you so well, bend you to my touch, my intention
I draw it out of you like an artist draws images from
paint or clay, subtle curves or a perfect line

she's not you.
she's angry and quick to tense
She speaks harshly, smokes, uses me
in the same way I was using her

It feels dirty, in this room with a loose bedframe
an Irish flag hanging on the wall
like a cheap movie, a sad story

she's about as pleasurable as the first woman
who ever tried to melt that stone in me
which is to say, I felt no pleasure at all
I felt used, violated, abused under a hand that

isn't yours.

I gather my clothes, my phone.
The room is still dark.
She's asleep, wears a scowl
loose red hair making her pale skin look
like marble.

And I think
to someone, she must be beautiful.

Someone else could have been gentler with her
would have left the marks she pleaded for on
her milky white skin

I couldn't be who she wanted, needed
we were two strangers tangled together
in desperation

she wasn't you
I suppose I had to confirm that

she didn't curve to my touch
or match my every motion with hers

she told me I was too rough
but I think
I was trying so hard to pretend

She'll wake up without me this morning
and after that we won't speak again.

I feel cheap, baby, I feel dirty
I feel desperate.

I only wanted you, I only looked for you
in the faces of other women, other
lovers
but none of them, not one
was you.

I remember delighting in your flesh
attempting to draw every bit of your pleasure to my fingertips
as if you and I had been made
for this exactly, for this absolute state where I know
never again will I find another lover so perfectly matched
another lover who could find that place of
deep contentment and endless need within me

I recoil now, draw away from any hand that reaches for me
or attempts to drag along my skin and press deep into that place.
I recoil.

I lay alone tonight
and I recall every sound
and I feel
vulnerable and naked
exposed before the many eyes
of the many lovers who were not you
and I think they must have known.

The moonlight tumbles across my sheets
where you should be
I lay alone, press your shirt to my chest
breathe in your perfume and hope
that I'll dream of you, lover
dream of your flesh
and the sound of falling.

Ly Hansen