Intimacy - Morgan Sherlock

New Year’s Eve I silently pleaded for intimacy. Lit beeswax votives in

corners of my ten by thirteen room. Stripped my skin of any fabric except

the white sheet balled at my feet. She promised the folds to oil them

in jasmine, crack stiff toe joints, braid the knotted hair along my spine.

I say to her you must see yourself in the mirror, she shivers and curses.

Enough of this I sigh out, doodling on the backs of novels and admiring

my witch hands. When the tea runs cold, I try to peel off the mattress

only to feel extra weight spooning my back. Keeping me in place.

Is this alright she asks; I reposition so there’s room for both of us. Passing

her the ceramic mug, we take turns slurping the peppermint

liquid.