2:00

 photo by Meaghan Harris

photo by Meaghan Harris

By L.A. Lopes

I lay in the darkness with only his breath the soundtrack to my midnight query. 
My fingertips trace my body as though charting a map. 
Flaw to flaw. 
Connecting a constellation of doubt and unworthiness. 
Over and over outlining all the reasoning I am not worthy of fidelity. 
No! 
That wildly bold divvy of soul screams. 
You will not succumb. 
Not you. 
But still you. 
Every night the conflict rages between appalled addictive stroke to disobedient thought. 
If I laid here abandoned, 
without his in and outs,
serenading my crusade,
would I question my desirability?
Continue to feign stability? 
Heavy are the eyes that rebel to blink. 
Each open and close, a recourse lost. 
Another moment drowned in vein. 
Now I let the shame carry me to morn light. 
I redeem the unwavering uncertainty
a carnival prize sitting on my shoulders. 
Each exhalation, a preparation for combat. 
The Warfare. 
Never ending, never knowing. 
And always
unyielding
I laugh in the wind. 
I defy it. 
I bend to it. 
Again and again the story goes. 
No ending, no conclusion
No ceasefire. 

Emily Dickinson