a drowned proposal

in our bed, in the spaces of our home,
we bring in our demons to share silver sheets,
touches and kisses — soft
and soon to be shaken,
i warn him, i’ve been hurt before so i might have scars,
and he pulls me closer,
you’ve been hurt before, i say, and he says he has,
tell me where, i ask, i want to help them heal,
he stutters and sputters, and the hurt pours out
a monsoon, flooding the bed built on dreams and a promise of a better world,
a dam not built up, a reservoir to come, but alone,
he pulls away.