Between the sheets

You hold me in your hands
like a bubble threatening
to burst.
You speak to me with a wisdom
you say I will never have
because I am always on the edge,
between the pages


of this book instead of
your white cotton sheets.
Because I refused to stay
the night saying I preferred
the comforts of my own bed,
when in reality,
I got lost
in your touch and the
hunger in your eyes
scared me,


because you asked too much
of me,
placed me on a pedestal
I could never reach.
Stumbling over my own
words I left you lying
between bed sheets
to take up the space
between these sheets
of paper
wishing I’d had the guts to
place my shoes beside yours


at the end of the bed,
the strength to lie next to you,
my hand resting comfortably
on your bare stomach
breathing in the scent of you,
just before the bubble bursts