What Bodies

What bodies have lain beside me, in the day and the fall of night,
and what arms have wrapped through mine in a stranger‘s bed?
I scarcely remember faces, just the skin and lips of phantom men,
but the rain tonight is full of the ghosts of them, pattering and
sighing against the glass, wanting a decent, coherent reply.
I lie swathed in cotton sheets, alone for once, with an emotion
that could be happiness for the memories of those forgotten few.
To fall in love for night, rather than being tied down for eternity,
it’s something I’ve come to enjoy when the tips are high.

I cannot name loves that came and disappeared,
I cannot say I’ve experienced that svelte emotion at all;
I only know that in the heart of the fire lies a self-forgiveness,
A promise to myself that I’ll never love myself any less.