i was not meant to sit alone
but to press bodies
and be pressed down
and not seen by outside eyes for a week or more

it seems a week is enough
for lust to run itself through me
although i am unlike others
and would perhaps require more

so i take notice now and then
of who fills the spaces beside me
come dawn there is no one still to share my table
and perhaps take my lips to theirs

they will never put their words to me
as they would to the sweet ones
who smell of honeysuckle
and summers spent always in kentucky