Polly Poem by H.E Warfield

Coiling up onto a foreign couch, wrapped in
another man’s sheets of sweat and passion fueled filth.
The softness of the cushions, the caress of material
that’s unfamiliar and not my own.
My gratitude, they will never know.
As our bodies combine his scent stains my skin, soaks in to stay.
Another perfume to add to my collection
Another smell to haunt me like a ghost

When I walk out the door I abandon them
But they will never abandon me.
When I walk out the door they stop loving me
But I will never stop loving them.

Yes I loved them all
How do I love just one?
How do I lay with just one?
He also can smell my loving perfume, my stench that obstructs his.
When I’m loving and lying in a bed full of ghosts.