Alice, 41
Jessica Piazza
You fall asleep. Your careworn body falls
into a dream of following. A man
with skin so pale it’s white, a twitching man
whose nervousness seduces you. He calls
out; checks his watch. He rushes past, a rush
of longing rising in you. So, you go.
A fall. A sprain. A needling need. A slow
descent, descent, descent. Alight. The crush
of gravity, of shelves, of too small doors.
Too dizzy, halfway drunk with want, you drink.
A cure for the hard-bitten heart: to shrink
so small you’re almost gone. Distraught, forlorn,
you eat some cake, but barely feel alive.
He’s late, but you have only just arrived.