poem: S.D.H

Connecting With a Stranger

I wake up next to a name I know, but whose history I do not.

Where am I?

The sheets are laid blue, not printed with the familiar juvenile polka-dots.

Where is my skirt?

Inkblot fingerprints etched a story into my skin, a story I am grasping to get the complete picture of.

Where is my phone, my purse?

My breath is radiating of my vice.

Where does he keep the Tylenol?

I leave the apartment; one I will never come across again. I try not to disturb the sleeping man. Another stranger who now has a map of my body, but not my mind.

about the writer: S.D.H.

you can read more by S.D.H here.