Skin Hunger

The Danes call it “skin hunger”—
Aching to be touched,
Terrified to be touched.
You are frozen in time,
Too much time
To think about everyone you’ve ever known,
Dated,
Slept with.
You are lost
In a cave of words,
That crash down on you,
Then lift you up,
Distractions
Keeping you busy—
Clean the oven,
Unload the dishwasher,
Vacuum,
Until sleep teases you,
‘Til you nod your head,
Go through all the bedtime rituals—
Flossing your teeth in the mirror
That doesn’t lie.
Yes, those are your drooping eyelids,
Your hair is turning gray,
An inch of roots,
And you remember
That you used to be pretty.
But time is cruet.
It takes what it wants,
As you climb into bed,
Adjust yourself into a curl,
And spread your arm across
The empty pillow beside you......