Mannequin

Take off your hands

like a shop window mannequin

and give them to me;

let me imagine that it’s you

sleeping on the other side of the bed.

Your hands

and mine.

Let me let you

feel the bridge of my nose

and run your hands over

the scar on my elbow,

the mole on my chin

to make it yours

even when I’m holding you holding me.

Tell me it’ll always be this easy;

this gentle;

this much led by the me

that’s leading you.

Let me use your hands

to call you

so I can use your middle finger

to tell you that I hate it

when you don’t answer.

Make your hands puppet master

and let me hold them;

as they contort me

into however I think they think

they want me to be.

And then let them

fall into bed with me

as I sleep,

holding your cold hand

in a double bed;

painfully aware

of the blistering, dry

burn of always being

alone.

2017-2018