The Visit


This is a piece I’ve been working on for awhile.

Leave comments if you please.

– Dahv



The devil was at my door.

Thinking it was you I let him in.

He wore claws like acrylics:

plastic black shields above nail beds.

His skin was pale; face, a bulletin board,

pierced with red and blue jewels.

His compliments were choreographed –

voice cracks and verbal pauses predetermined.

He lay on my bed – stretched open his arms, legs:

a bed sheet angel.

Laughter brewed in my mouth at the thought that he might have been you.


He asked of you like you two were childhood friends.

Bingo balls, my eyes rolled at the peak of your name.

People in line for coffee measure our distance.

Eye contact is our rare communication.

Seamed with secondhand smoke, your sweatshirt hood piggybacks your neck.

Your cotton met my comforter many times; the scent became common.


The devil scooted over and smiled. His teeth were bunched tight on top,

spaced evenly on bottom: levels of intimacy.

I wondered if he hid levels of evil beneath his shirt.

We tumbled through trails,

rolled out wrinkles in my bed:

east to west, to east.

Soon he left; planted a kiss on my cheek:

a kiss – cool, metallic – garnished with a lip ring.

To my bed, I returned and smelled tobacco,

tobacco mingling in the cotton field.

Laughter brewed in my mouth at the thought that he might have been you.


 Photo Credit

Add comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.