My Dusty Bed
I look at my dusty, dry bed and remember
how it once leapt for joy, throwing itself against the wall
and walking the room like a self-absorbed professor
teaching doe-eyed, blushing coeds his own kinky Kama Sutra.
I jump onto the shocked, stiff mattress and I feel as though
it's been violated, assaulted, by my aloneness and me.
My phantom companion releases a chain reaction
that cannot be stopped.I writhe, wrestle,
smack myself and scream. I beg the ghost
to feed on me, fill me, fuck me, and share his soul.
Then he leaves before all the dust is gone. I wipe clean
what I can. Maybe later.
Dawn Dupler has written and edited newspapers and books most of her life. One day evil compelled her to earn an engineering degree. Eventually she drop-kicked her briefcase and never looked back. Her works have appeared in GlassFire's print anthology, Loch Raven Review, and others. She is wrapping up her first novel.