hands off.
fumbling through my dilapidated sheets

i’m alone in this bed with you beside me
it’s so cold in this bed with you beside me.

i have only a blanket for cloak
and hide my stubborn eyelids
from your yellowed-orange frame
that once hung on my wall
now emptied.

it gripped the image of a barebacked gypsy
at the edge of iron rusted gates
about to enter an unbeknownst city

and i looked at it
the only way i know how
downright bitter

so i let you have it anyway