The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Sid Gold

The Knack

It has been so long

since I have slept with another

all through the night, I’ve lost

the knack of it, & even

your singular body, if truth

be told, crowds me as in a barracks.

Suddenly, this bed is a box

too narrow to hold us all: you, 

me, & at least a third or a fourth,

silent, shade-like presences,

invisible as dreams, who slip

between us, curling into the curves

of our bodies like house pets

no longer frightened by our scowls

as we doze like big cats after a hunt.

When you awaken, you may not

find me here beside you, but I can

promise I will be nearby, occupying

a discreet middle distance on the couch,

& our unbidden guests, predators

who roam only under the cover of dark,